


We Could Turn the World to Gold

by middyblue (daisyblaine)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Season/Series 05, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22249258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyblaine/pseuds/middyblue
Summary: “You’re getting him to go running?” Alexis says incredulously, finally looking up from her phone.“Under protest,” David says. Alexis narrows her eyes at him and he rolls his eyes at her. “So maybe Patrick won a bet.”“And running is what you make him do?” she asks Patrick. “Have youseenhim run?”Nine weeks of following Patrick's c25k running app, picking up from where the Season 5 finale left off.
Relationships: Alexis Rose & David Rose, Patrick Brewer & Alexis Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 80
Kudos: 300





	We Could Turn the World to Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Run Away With Me by Carly Rae Jepson, because of course it does. This was written entirely over the summer, months before Season 6 aired, and I'm publishing now because at least one bit of dialogue showed up in s6e1 and NO MORE will Dan Levy scoop me.
> 
> It picks up right after the s5 finale and goes week by week through the length of the c25k running app, which you can find written out [here](https://www.nhs.uk/live-well/exercise/couch-to-5k-week-by-week/) if you're curious.

#### Week One

After the crowd files out -- some a little too reluctantly, Patrick thinks, and he’s uneasy at the instinct to gawk -- he, David, and Alexis are left in their motel room listening to Moira’s wails through the closed door. Alexis sits with her legs stretched out on her bed, her shoes kicked off haphazardly on the floor, and David sits on the edge of his, staring at the carpet, clenching his hands together in his lap. Patrick sits next to him and places a hand on his back, his gaze pulled like a magpie to David’s rings. He feels David exhale under his hand. 

“Should I go?” he asks quietly. David shakes his head, the tension held in his back making his movement stiff, and takes a breath, giving Patrick a wry smile. 

“You’re marrying into this.” 

Despite himself, Patrick smiles back, and ducks his head to try to hide it. _Not the time._ David’s smile turns fond, and his shoulders relax, just a little. Patrick strokes his back, feeling the strong muscles holding David upright, the miracle of him solid under the sweater. 

“Aww,” Alexis coos, holding her hand under her chin, and then frowns. “I can’t believe I have to wait a whole week before I get to see Ted again.” 

“How will you cope?” David asks, his mouth twisting sardonically. Alexis gives him an unamused look and he makes a face back at her. 

“Okay,” Patrick interrupts, before the bickering can really get going. After two years, he thinks he’s getting the hang of figuring out when they’re really going at it and when they’re just tired. Or hungry, but he’s pretty sure this is them tired. “It’s getting late. I should probably head out, let you guys have your family time.” 

“You’re going to be a Rose, Patrick,” Alexis says, going back to scrolling through her phone. David sets his folded arm on Patrick’s shoulder and rests his chin there, like he’s done so many times before, like it’s as natural as slouching, and more comfortable. 

“We actually haven’t discussed that yet,” David mutters to the side of Patrick’s face, not lifting his chin from Patrick’s shoulder. His breath smells of champagne and cheese. “Will you be a Rose? The store _is_ called Rose Apothecary.” 

“A discussion for another time, maybe?” Patrick suggests, patting David’s thigh. “Right now I just want to know where I should plan on sleeping tonight.” 

“Well, the _Roses_ are staying here.” 

Patrick huffs a laugh and turns his head to look at David again, whose eyes glint back at him. 

“I think Mom’s stopped crying,” Alexis says, still on her phone. 

“Okay, well, if I’m staying here, I guess I’ll get ready for bed then,” Patrick says. “We’ve got a run in the morning.” David makes a face, still on his shoulder. “It’s week one, David. It’ll be easy.” 

“It’s _running_.” 

“You’re getting him to go _running_?” Alexis says incredulously, finally looking up from her phone. 

“Under protest,” David says. Alexis narrows her eyes at him and he rolls his eyes at her. “So maybe Patrick won a bet.” 

“And running is what you make him do?” she asks Patrick. “Have you _seen_ him run?” 

“Tell her what the bet was,” Patrick says, grinning. David rolls his eyes again. 

“So maybe I thought Joseph Gordon-Levitt was the voice of young Simba in the Lion King.” 

“Is that why you watched it so much?” Alexis asks, wrinkling her nose. 

“Okay, I saw it in theaters _twice_.” 

“You swore on your crush on Jonathan Taylor Thomas that it wasn’t him,” Patrick says. “Poor JTT.” 

“Well, maybe he should have returned my calls when I was teen modeling in LA.” 

“Sure.” Patrick kisses his forehead and stands up. “I am getting ready for bed.” 

“I am not built for running,” David calls after him, but he’s smiling. 

The Roses’ bathroom isn’t as cluttered as he’d expected it to be, the first time he’d been here. David and Alexis have more products than he does by a wide margin, of course, but they’re kept neatly in the medicine cabinet and in a little wooden stand in the corner by the shower. Well. David’s are kept neatly. Alexis’s seem to have been thrown onto the shelves and are sometimes rearranged. Patrick knows better than to comment. 

Patrick picks out the familiar face wash -- Rose Apothecary gentle hydrating cleanser -- and starts the first round of what he suspects will be several cycles of his routine, in an attempt to get off the rest of the stage makeup. 

By the time he’s finished, Mr. and Mrs. Rose’s room is quiet, and Alexis and David seem half-asleep as they tap on their phones. David gets up and squeezes Patrick’s wrist in passing, apparently calling next in the bathroom. Patrick climbs into David’s little twin bed and tries to leave as much room as he can, which is not much; the bed seems too small for one grown man, let alone two. He wonders how small David’s had to fold himself to fit in it. 

“I’m really happy for you,” Alexis says quietly. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’d better not have it until I get back.” 

“Of course, Alexis. You know we want you to be as involved as you can be.” He’d gotten the full rant from David about Alexis’s reaction to the engagement news, but on the car ride home from the hike he’d also gotten to see David chattering excitedly about all the ideas he’s apparently been harboring, and Alexis plays a starring role in the process David detailed for him. He’s seen them bicker fiercely and be each other’s greatest confidants five minutes later. He’s not worried. 

“That’s a dangerous promise to make,” Alexis says with a half-smile, like she’s just remembering their bickering, as if that erases their entire relationship over the past five years. 

“We’re not going to get married without you.” 

“I know.” Alexis fiddles with the charm on her phone. “I just feel like I’m going to miss everything.” 

“You will miss some things.” She makes a face at him and he smiles back. “But you’re going to have an amazing time with Ted.” Alexis sniffs and nods. “We’re still going to be here when you get back.” 

“Do you promise?” she asks. 

“I _promise_.” 

“Okay.” 

They sit in silence for a while. Patrick lets her collect herself and feels himself sinking a little into the middle of the mattress, not out of comfort but due to the fact that it’s held one body for so long and seems reluctant to give up that shape. The bathroom door swings open at the same time as the door to Mr. and Mrs. Rose’s room and Patrick can’t not smile at David’s instinctive “Ew” at his father dressed for bed. 

“Good night, kids,” Mr. Rose says. Patrick tries not to stare at the nightgown, but he meets David’s eye and David curls his lip the barest amount and Patrick has to look away again before he starts laughing. “I just want to remind you that we want this room cleared out by the time Alexis… leaves.” 

“Oh my god, Dad. I’ll be gone for _six months_.” 

“Well, obviously David is going to be moving out, and it’s wasteful to have a room sitting empty for six months when we could have guests using it. You can have it back when you come back from the Galapagos.” 

Patrick glances back over at David, whose face is doing something that means he has something to say but is uncertain about it. 

“Okay, good night!” Alexis says, waving him away. Mr. Rose smiles sadly at the room and slowly shuts the door quietly behind himself. “Are you done, David?” she asks, stalking into the bathroom without waiting for a response. 

Patrick lets David finish his bedtime routine and get into bed without pressing him to talk. David finally settles alongside him, laying half on top of him in a way that Patrick knows will end up with him waking up in the middle of the night overheated with a dead arm. Patrick waits for David to speak first. 

“You do want to live together, right?” David asks softly. 

“Yes, David.” 

“Okay. Good. It’s just that last time I apparently misread things.”

“I want to live with you. I think ‘for the rest of our lives’ is in a clause somewhere.” 

“Okay,” David says, pretend-annoyed, and kisses him. Patrick settles a hand in his hair to hold him close; he only gets away with it at night, or early in the morning. He can feel David smiling into the kiss and pulls him closer. 

The bathroom door unlocks, and they separate, and a full thirty seconds later Alexis comes out of the bathroom. 

“Very subtle,” David says. Alexis smirks at him and flounces over to her bed. 

“Good night,” she says, and flicks off the light. “Please don’t have sex.” 

“Ew.” 

Patrick holds back a laugh. “Good night, Alexis,” he says instead. 

David rubs his cheek against Patrick’s shoulder and Patrick closes his eyes. He’s very nearly on the edge of the bed, but David settles an arm across his waist and wiggles his legs in a way that Patrick knows means he’s getting comfortable enough to fall asleep. Patrick listens to the Roses’ breathing and slowly falls asleep himself, his face in David’s hair. 

He wakes up in the middle of the night, when the cool grey light coming through the window suggests that it’s just tipping into early morning, with his arm in pins and needles where David had been sleeping on top of it. Somehow David has wiggled up the bed, or Patrick has shifted down, and as he waits for his arm to stop pinging in agony he settles his cheek against David’s shoulder, bare where the sleeve of his t-shirt has rucked up in his sleep. David’s skin is cool to the touch and a little tacky and, of course, soft. David doesn’t wake up, but lets Patrick nudge him a little back toward his side of the bed. Feeling cramped and not a little stiff, Patrick misses his bed, but not as much as he’d thought he would. It feels like being at a sleepover all over again and the only one awake, listening to the others breathing and ready to slip back into sleep, knowing he’s not alone. 

He wakes up again before David and Alexis, this time at a more decent hour, and quietly digs through his bag for his rehearsal shorts and a shirt before slipping out the door. He loves Schitt’s Creek in the morning, all quiet and still and calm, a cool breeze countering the sun that promises a warm day. The cafe is starting to get busy with other morning people getting their coffee and danishes and he has to wait a minute to get Twyla’s attention at the counter. She beams at him as she gives him his five coffees in a four-coffee tray, the fifth precariously placed in the middle. Patrick smiles in thanks and leaves the money on the counter, barely missing Bob’s arm with the tray as he turns to go. 

When he gets back to the motel, Alexis is up though not yet dressed, doing something at her desk, but David is still sleeping. He will be a Rose sometime soon, in practice if not in name, and he still feels like… like he’s intruding, a little. This is their home, for all intents and purposes, and he really doesn’t fit in David’s bed here. But he can bring them coffee, and, well. And it’s only polite, really. He hands Alexis her coffee and picks David’s from the tray before kneeling by the bed. 

“David,” he murmurs, stroking his hair out of his face. 

“Mm.” 

“Coffee.” 

David whines crankily without opening his eyes. Patrick smiles and kisses his cheek. 

“Come on,” he needles. “We want to get going before it gets too hot out.” 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” David complains, finally looking at him, his face still mashed into the pillow. Patrick can’t not smile at him. 

“You don’t have to if you really don’t want to.” 

“No, I’m coming,” David mumbles. 

“You just have to run for a minute at a time. You can run for a minute.” 

“Yes, but I don’t want to.” 

Patrick sighs and pats David’s shoulder as he stands up. 

“Alexis, do you want to come?” 

“No, thank you,” she says with a bright smile. “I don’t think you could keep up with me.” 

“Oh, is that a challenge?” 

“It might be.” She winks at him. 

“Okay, this is worse,” David interjects, finally sitting up. His eyes are heavy-lidded and his hair is sticking up in multiple directions except where it’s flat on the right side. Patrick hands him his coffee and David squints at it, wearing the rings Patrick gave him, _still wearing the rings_ ; it feels like a dream, that David said yes. 

It takes about twenty minutes for David and Alexis to get dressed and sunscreened, and by that time Mr. and Mrs. Rose have opened the door, acted pleasantly surprised to have coffees waiting for them, and offered commentary about David’s running capability, or lack thereof. David insists on wearing another pair of black shorts and knee socks again, but allows himself to be convinced to wear a long sleeve t-shirt instead of a sweater. It takes some doing to actually get David and Alexis out the door. 

“Okay,” Patrick says, pulling his heels back to stretch his quads, “I’ve got the program going on my phone. It’ll tell us when to run and when to walk. Ready? It’ll start with a five-minute walk.” 

“Okay,” David says apprehensively. Although he’s wearing his white sunglasses, his eyebrows are up in the middle of his forehead. Patrick squeezes his shoulder. 

“It’ll be fine, David. Just. However fast you go, try going slower. Slower is better.” 

“Okay, let’s go,” Alexis says, waving her wrists impatiently. Patrick presses START and they obediently start walking when the voice tells them to. “So, have you guys thought about where you’re going to live? Since you’re not living in the motel.” 

“We haven’t gotten that far,” David tells her, annoyed. “We only got engaged the day before yesterday.” 

“Well, I guess you can figure that out while I’m gone. I bet the dead body apartment is still available.” She winks at David. 

“Okay, ew.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Patrick says, herding the Roses to the side of the road as a car comes. The story came out over pancakes one morning at Ray’s -- the start of their marriage does not need that. _Marriage_. God. 

“Well, whatever. You do know that you’ll have to kill, like, all the bugs for the rest of your life, right?” Alexis pokes at him, grinning. 

“Alexis,” David hisses, as if Patrick isn’t already very familiar with this. 

“Yeah, I know,” Patrick says, amused. 

“And David is a horrible person when he’s sick.” 

“Okay, that is not true,” David interjects, his lip curling. 

“I guess we’ll find out, huh?” Patrick says. He’s looking forward to it, and it makes him sound like a horrible person. He imagines a sick David will probably be extra cranky, and drive him crazy, and it’ll be wonderful. David’s already pulled a branch out of his foot, produced and applied disinfectant, and carried him up a mountain, and agreed to marry him even after all that. He thinks they’ll do alright. David’s mouth tips into a smile. 

“You’re no fun,” Alexis teases, flapping a hand at them. “Call me when one of you goes groomzilla.” 

“I know you think it’ll be me, but it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for,” David says, gesturing. His face says _I think I’m funny_. 

“Wow.” Patrick tries to look appalled. David’s pleased smile tells him that he’s missed and landed on affectionate. Well, it’s fair, he thinks. He never thought he’d actually get to be this happy; he’ll probably be grinning like an idiot for days. With David smiling back at him, he doesn’t mind. 

“When do we get to run?” Alexis complains after a few minutes, shaking out her arms. 

“Forty-seven seconds,” Patrick reads from his phone. 

“You know, I could do this in the Galapagos.” 

“Good for you,” David snarks. 

“I _mean_ ,” she continues, “we could, like, do the running thing together. Even though I’ll be there and you’ll be here.” Patrick tries not to react and watches David’s face as he thinks about this. 

“I guess,” David says eventually. 

“We won’t always have cell service, Ted says, but we can email.” 

“Email?” David says, affronted. Patrick’s phone dings and announced that it’s time to start running. “Oh, god.” 

“Come on, David.” 

He spends the first minute pacing with David, who seems braced for disaster. David watches Patrick’s movement and tries to copy it, looking incredibly uncomfortable. Patrick wonders if this was a mistake. 

“It’s the cool and dry season in the Galapagos,” Alexis says, jogging along next to David. Patrick mentally thanks the universe that she doesn’t tease him. “Doesn’t that sound like the perfect running weather? David?” 

David grunts. Patrick stays steady with him until phone chimes and tells them to start walking. 

“See? Not so bad,” Patrick cajoles. David grimaces at him. 

“We should do a 5k in the spring after I get back,” Alexis says. “I bet Ted would do it.” 

“He _is_ in good shape,” David says, suddenly looking more chipper. Patrick clears his throat and David pats his ass. 

“Do we want to plan one on top of the wedding, though?” Patrick asks, trying to be sensible. His phone chimes and they start jogging again. 

“No,” David says, but Alexis pouts. 

“It would be so much fun, though,” she says. “I’ll plan it.” 

“Stevie and I will cheer you on.” 

“If we stick to the program, you’ll be able to run a 5k,” Patrick says. “A half hour of your life at a time.” It would have to be in the spring, so they’d have to keep up running through the winter, but he’s always liked having a goal to work toward, and it would be a good way to keep them both active when it gets colder and they don’t want to move. David makes a series of faces before landing on resignation. 

“Okay, fine. But in exchange I claim full creative control over our wedding.” 

Patrick grins. 

“Like you didn’t have that already,” Alexis says, tweaking the shoulder of David’s shirt. He swats at her. 

“I promise to let you wear blue,” David tells him, breathing heavily as he jogs, and pushes his sunglasses back up his nose where they’ve slipped down. 

“Maybe next time you might want to wear a hat instead,” Patrick suggests. 

“Ew.” 

Patrick looks to Alexis, who seems lost in thought. His phone chimes and the voice tells them to walk. Miraculously, David refrains from complaining for the rest of the run, and by the time they get back to the motel all three of them are “glistening,” according to Alexis. She calls dibs on the shower before they even get in the room and David sits gingerly in a chair at the table, as if he’s afraid to touch it. 

“This is so gross,” he says, making a face at the patch of sweat showing through his shirt on his chest. 

“I think you look _very_ nice,” Patrick leers. David smiles up at him and pets his hip, and Patrick leans down to kiss him; he can’t help it. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, Sporty Spice,” David murmurs. 

“Mm. How about we shower, go get some breakfast, and come back here to start packing?” 

“Okay, that’s so much physical activity on my day off, though.” 

“Waffles,” Patrick suggests. 

“...Say more things.” 

“Bacon. Sausage. Eggs. Orange juice.” 

“Ugh, fine.” 

Patrick winds his fingers through David’s left hand, his gold rings glinting, and David watches with a small smile. David’s hair is greasy and floppy and his shirt really is very sweaty and he doesn’t smell like a peach and his face is shining and he could use a shave, and he’s the most beautiful person Patrick’s ever known. 

“I love you,” Patrick says, helplessly. 

“I love you, too. Even when you make me exercise.” 

The bathroom door unlocks and this time they stare at the bathroom door until Alexis actually opens it. 

“We’re not having sex!” David snaps. 

“I’m not judging,” Alexis says primly, shaking out her wet hair. “You can use the bathroom. I’ll dry my hair out here.” 

“I need a change of clothes. I’ll shower at the apartment and meet you at the cafe?” 

“Mm. Okay,” David says, meeting him for a kiss. 

After over twenty-four hours surrounded by Roses, his ears ring in the emptiness of his apartment. Their apartment. He rubs a hand down his face and can’t hold back the grin. His closet isn’t full, really, but there’s clearly not enough room for David’s wardrobe, he thinks, turning on the shower. They’ll have to get one of those standing racks until they find — somewhere else. A house. God, a house with David. He has to sit down on the toilet seat for a minute. 

He’s pictured it before, obviously, but it’s real, now. He and David will live in a house. Or in an apartment, if that’s what David really wants, but Patrick wants a yard. He wants to spend his Sunday mornings with a lawn mower in the summer, and he wants to sit with David in front of the fireplace in the winter. He wants a porch with a porch swing. He wants David, next to him, every day, making everything brighter, more vibrant, more interesting than anything else. They’ll make room for David’s wardrobe. The Roses are already making room for him, like they’ve made room for Stevie. His phone pings. 

_I’m hungryyyy_

Patrick laughs. He can’t imagine anything better than this. 

_I’ll meet you in 20,_ he texts back, and gets in the shower. 

#### Week Two

The first morning after Alexis leaves, David hasn’t slept at all. Patrick has dozed a little through the night, because he’d been at the store by himself all day, but as far as Patrick can tell David hasn’t put his phone down since she left yesterday morning. 

“David,” Patrick mumbles when he blinks awake at seven to find David sitting up in exactly the same position next to him as he’d been at three am. “You need to sleep.” 

“I can’t,” David says tightly. Patrick sighs and pushes him gently until he’s laying back on the pillows, and rests his head on David’s chest. David’s heart thuds reassuringly under his ear and David strokes his hair. “You slept well, though,” David says, his tone turning teasing. 

“I did, a little.” 

“I’m sorry if I kept you up.” 

“I know. It’s okay.” 

“I just need to know that she’s alright.” 

“I know, but David, you can’t just not sleep for six months.” 

“Mmkay, tell that to my college roommate.” 

“Cocaine?” 

“Adderall.” 

“Sure.” Patrick yawns. David’s sleep shirt is soft under his cheek, and he could actually fall back asleep to the sound of David’s beating heart. “Do you want to look at the house today or do you just want to sleep?” 

“I can’t sleep!” 

“Okay, David.” 

“It’s like my brain just won’t shut up. What if their plane crashes? What if she gets abducted by a taxi driver? What if the Ecuadorian consulate detains her and won’t let her call me for help?” 

“Okay. David, I don’t think any of that is going to happen this time.” 

“It might.” 

“She’s got Ted with her,” Patrick tries. 

“Yeah, I don’t really trust _Ted_ to keep her out of trouble.” 

Patrick sits up and gives him a quick kiss. Time to switch tacks. “Let’s go for a run,” he says. David makes a face. “You’ll feel better, I promise.” 

“Will I?” David asks, wrinkling his nose. His fingers play at the sleeve of Patrick’s shirt. Patrick smiles and kisses him again. 

“Exercise. Fresh air. Endorphins.” 

“Hey, remember that time when I exercised and you proposed after?” David asks, his hand falling to the mattress as Patrick gets up. He can feel David watching him as he moves around the room. “Is there any chance of jewelry as a reward for exercise moving forward?” Patrick turns from the wardrobe to give him a look and David’s face goes from hopeful to an amused, pleased-with-himself grin. The neck of his sleep shirt is pulled to the side, exposing a lot more skin than Patrick is used to seeing. He reminds himself to focus. 

“Look, last week was easy, right?” 

“I guess.” 

“Alexis promised that she’ll run this one today, too.” 

He hadn’t gotten to be there when she left, but he’d stopped by earlier and said goodbye and talked to her for a bit while David was pretending to grouch but was actually checking her luggage for weight and zipper security. 

She’d been worried about David, the same way David is worried about her, and not for the first time Patrick is struck by how bittersweet it must be for them to have been stuck here. On the one hand, David lost everything; on the other, he’s got a sister who promised his fiancé she would email him regular updates, about her runs if nothing else. She won’t disappear on him again. 

“She’ll email me about it, I guess,” David says uncertainly. “If she’s okay.” 

“She will. Get dressed?” 

David sighs. “Okay,” he says, put-upon. He does carry the phone with him to find some running clothes, but he doesn’t have to be convinced to put on the sneakers. Baby steps. 

After the run, during which David complained but kept his feet moving, Patrick stops by the cafe for some much-needed coffees and then drives them out to the end of town, where there are a few big old Victorians left over from an old town center. According to Ray, the town center moved toward where it is today as the town built itself out and these old houses fell out of style: too big, too much to maintain, out of step with the houses at the new center of town. One or two of them became small hotels at one point, then private residences, slipping into disrepair over the years, until the property prices went down enough that ordinary people could afford the area again. Ray calls it “the historic district” and in the same breath claims that it’s “up and coming,” which Patrick takes with a grain of salt but David seems intrigued by. 

They get out of the car open-mouthed at the house at the end of the street. It’s three stories, painted a chipped and faded white, surrounded by trees just far enough from the house to let the sunshine in. 

“Hellooo!” Ray calls from the porch, beaming at them. Patrick waves. 

“This looks big,” David says under his breath, putting a smile on for Ray. 

“Good big or bad big?” 

David gives him a _How would I know?_ look. Patrick knows for a fact that it’s insignificant compared to the places David lived in in his former life, but, well. They can’t and won’t be able to afford a bigger place; he can’t give David what he and Alexis grew up with, not that David necessarily wants that anymore, anyway. It does seem a bit bigger than what they had discussed with Ray, though. 

“Ray, how many bedrooms is this?” Patrick asks, touching the worn wooden rail leading up to the front porch. 

“Five,” Ray says proudly. Patrick feels his face go pale. “Two baths.” 

“Wow,” David says. “Two whole baths.” 

“You could always put in another bathroom, but I think sharing makes things so much cozier, don’t you?” 

“Uh huh. Ray, should we go in?” David asks, peering over Ray’s shoulder. 

“Of course. Let me just say that I know this place is a bit of a fixer-upper, so I think this may be more to Patrick’s taste, but it’s been on the market for a while and I think we can talk the seller down on the price.” 

They follow Ray into the foyer and look around. There is a big brown-carpeted staircase just inside, which David makes a face at, and beyond that what looks like an open kitchen and attached living room, which looks like it had been separate until some walls were taken down, and a not-bad view of the hills off a back deck by the eating area. 

“Ray, are you sure this is in our budget?” Patrick asks warily, looking at the appliances. They’re older than he’d like, but they look functional, if they still work. They can replace them over time instead of adding them to the up-front cost, so that’s something. David touches a purple laminate countertop with two fingers. Patrick can’t read his face. 

“If we can get the seller to come down and help out on the closing and inspection costs, we’re just a smidge away from yes. And I don’t know about you two, but I am feeling lucky.” Patrick smiles reflexively back at Ray; it’s hard to be annoyed with him. 

There’s a yard. It’s not fenced in, but it’s lined with trees further back, and there’s a wooden rocking bench set up on the porch. 

“Ray, is that included?” The view of the hills beyond Schitt’s Creek is not directly due west but close enough that he could probably persuade David to sit with him for a sunset. His chest aches. 

“Ah, it could be. The seller is _very_ motivated. In fact, he’s already moved to Florida. Refuses to move back,” Ray says with an incredulous laugh. “You know what they say about men and their crocodiles.” 

Barely listening, Patrick is already picturing where the TV will go, where he’ll sit at the table to go over numbers for the store, where they’ll put stools by the kitchen peninsula so that they can sit and talk while one of them is making dinner. There’s a linen closet where they can keep sheets and blankets for guests and whatever overflow wardrobe David has, and a white wrought iron key rack on the wall by the door that David will either always or never use (he’s looking forward to learning to live with it), and the kitchen sink looks out over the backyard that rolls gently down to the treeline. It's… exactly the life he’d hoped for. 

David strokes Patrick’s shoulder to get his attention. 

“Before you fall in love,” David says quietly, “should we see the bedrooms?” Patrick grins at him and David smiles back, his face soft and indulgent like he knows exactly what’s going on in Patrick’s head. “We have to make sure they have enough closets,” David quips. 

“David, you can have two of the bedrooms for your clothes and we’d still have two guest rooms left over.” 

“I will hold you to that. Ray, the bedrooms?” 

They follow Ray up the stairs and peek into each of the bedrooms, three on the second floor, including the master, and two on the third. Patrick keeps looking out the windows at the yard. 

“I could mow it.” He turns to find David, who’s inspecting the bedroom’s trim. “David. The yard is big, but I could…” 

“Mm. Could we look at the bathrooms?” 

The bathrooms, on the first and second floors, are outdated with pink and green fiberglass fixtures, which Patrick finds hard to believe was ever in style. Judging by David’s face, he is also not thrilled by them. They’re functional, though, and the rest of the house… Patrick can _see_ them there. 

David keeps a hand on his waist, hip, or shoulder, as if he knows that Patrick is about to float away. The closets upstairs aren’t huge, but David could actually use one of the bedrooms just for clothing storage, and Ray hints that they could knock out part of a wall and put a door into the next room to convert it into a huge walk-in, or separate it into another bathroom _and_ a walk-in closet if they want. David asks Ray to give them a minute in the master bedroom. It’s been warmed by the sun coming in through the bare windows and the floorboards creak a little under their feet. 

“David, I love it,” Patrick says immediately. David smiles at him. 

“I know.” 

“Do you -- do you like it?” David bites his lip and looks to the side, out the window. Patrick feels his heart fall a bit. “You don’t like it.” 

“I like it,” David insists, rubbing Patrick’s shoulders. “I just think we should look at a few more. Just to be sure.” 

“But you like it,” Patrick repeats. “This is really a contender.” 

“Yes,” David says, biting his lip again. Patrick tilts his head. _A two lip-bites situation_. He waits. David tips his head back and blurts, “We should look at other places. I know that. But. I know where you’re going to watch the sports. I know where we’re going to sit on hot summer nights to watch the sun go down. I know where I’m going to set up a workspace that ultimately I’ll never use, and I know where you’ll set up yours where you’ll keep an extra pair of glasses one day. I know that you’re going to be the one running the dishwasher for the first year, but I can learn how. I can take out the trash and do our laundry and make our bed and keep our sheets in the closet out there in the hall.” Patrick feels a ridiculous grin growing, and David’s face is turning pink but he keeps going. “I know where I’m going to hide your birthday presents. I know which rooms we’ll give my parents and Alexis and Ted and Stevie when they stay over. I can’t wait to live with you,” David finishes, his voice thick. “I’m going to love you for the rest of my life, and I - I want to do it here.” 

“David,” Patrick says helplessly. David laugh-sobs like he had on the hike, and Patrick pulls him in for a kiss, hard and a bit wet. “God, I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

“Do you really want to look at a few more or do you want to tell Ray we’re putting in an offer?” 

David sniffs in response. 

“Ray?” Patrick calls. Ray opens the door within a second and gives them a bright smile. “I think we want to make an offer.” 

“Excellent,” Ray says. “I always knew this one was for you. It just has that charm that David seems to find irresistible.” 

David nods awkwardly and Patrick can see him searching for something to say in response to that. 

“Thanks, Ray,” Patrick says helpfully. 

“Yes, thank you, Ray,” David says, placing a warm hand on Patrick’s back. Ray waves them to follow him down to the kitchen to go over the paperwork and to set up an inspector (Bob’s cousin Chuck) to go through the house but they don’t immediately follow him. They take one more look around the master bedroom and Patrick has to wipe his eyes; it looks like David is doing about the same. He pulls David into a hug, kissing his neck, and lets David hold him for a minute. They have a _home_. 

When they get back to the apartment, it’s getting late, and Patrick drops flat on his back onto the bed and moans. His head hurts from going over everything with Ray. David sits next to him, opens Patrick’s laptop, and enters his password. He wasn’t even aware that David _knew_ his password. 

“Your password is Brewer-one-two-three-exclamation point,” David says, without Patrick having to ask. 

“It might be,” he says with a sigh. 

“I just want to check my email. Alexis should have landed by now.” 

“She might not have had a chance to get online,” he reminds David, who doesn’t reply. With another sigh, he sits up and rubs David’s back, blinking blearily over his shoulder at the laptop screen. He’d left up his Twitter page and email and David opens new tab to get to Gmail. 

“Your password is MoirasRoses4856,” Patrick observes as he types it in. “What are the numbers?” 

“The last four digits of my dad’s credit card,” David says absently, like that makes sense, as he scrolls through his email. There’s a message from Ted Mullens among promos from online consignment sites and emails from vendors, which reminds Patrick that they have to get back to Jessica about her breads. David hesitates before he opens it. 

_David,_

_I can’t figure out how to get online without paying for it so Ted let me use his email. We didn’t get in until 11:30 and then I had to go on a run before I fell asleep so we wouldn’t get jetlag but because I don’t know where to run on this island Ted made me use the center’s employee gym. Like running on a scientist dork island would be any more dangerous than when I was in Honduras for three weeks and held at gunpoint until I convinced Sergio to let me go in exchange for some American dollars. You can’t even see the snakebite anymore. Anyway the treadmill sucked. I finished the run. We’re skipping dinner and going to bed. You better have run today because I am not doing this alone for six months. Tell me everything._

_Love, A_

David covers his mouth with his right hand and reads the email through more than once, if Patrick’s judging correctly. Patrick’s not really sure how the snakebite comes into it, but it doesn’t seem like the time to ask. 

“She’s fine,” Patrick says, shaking off concern for a younger Alexis. David nods and sniffs loudly. “David, she’s fine,” Patrick repeats, worried. 

“I know.” His face screws up and Patrick takes the laptop from him. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” Patrick pulls him into a hug and David immediately clings to his shirt. 

“I know we’re not the ones who are jetlagged, but maybe we could use an early night, too.” David nods into his shoulder. “How long has it been since you slept?” 

“Yesterday morning,” David mumbles. 

“Come on.” Patrick eases them back onto the bed and pulls a blanket over their legs. “Sleep for an hour, and I’ll make dinner.” 

“I want to write her back.” David’s eyes are already closed. 

“Okay,” Patrick says, scratching his scalp lightly. It takes only a minute for David’s breath to even out. Patrick watches him sleep for a few minutes, already picturing them just like this in the Victorian. The master has those huge windows that will make it awful to heat in the winter but will let in so much sunlight, dappled by the trees that will sway outside. He’ll make sure the screens don’t have any rips, to keep out the bugs, and then he can leave the windows open all summer, and they can sleep with the summer breeze wafting over them. 

When he wakes up, it’s dark in the apartment, and it feels late. David is sitting on the couch, Patrick’s laptop in his lap the only light. 

“What time’s it?” Patrick asks muzzily as he sits up. 

“Ten thirteen,” David says, stretching his back. “I made tater tots.” 

“Those aren’t actually food.” He gets up and veers by the couch before heading to the kitchen. He kisses the side of David’s head. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Writing to Alexis. I told her about the house.” David looks up as Patrick sits next to him on the couch, a plate of reheated tater tots in his lap. David steals one. 

“What do you think she’ll say?” 

“She’ll want pictures,” David says, twisting one of his rings. “So we’ll have to go back tomorrow after work. And she’ll want to help decorate it.” 

“We can do that.” 

“I told her that we ran this morning, so she better work out a route soon. I told her to take Ted with her.” 

“That sounds nice.” 

“Nice?” David asks, eyebrows raised. Patrick leaves a greasy kiss on his temple and rubs the grease away with his thumb before David can protest. 

“You’re a good person, David.” 

“Apparently, I’m a nice person.” 

Patrick gives an exaggerated wince. 

“No, no,” David teases. “Tell me more about what a nice person I am.” 

“I just want to eat my tater tots in peace,” Patrick says innocently. 

“Well, I heard they’re not real food anyway.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“I don’t know what you want him to do. I’m pretty sure tater tots fall outside of his jurisdiction,” David says, stealing another tot. 

#### Week Three

Patrick is away at a small business seminar on the first day of week three. It’s a two-day conference all the way in Thornbridge, so he has to stay the night, which doesn’t happen often, but isn’t totally unusual; Thornbridge is the biggest town in the county, and they do have a lot of good seminars. 

The thing is, though, that he likes to pack the day with as much of the schedule as he can, to really get as much out of it as possible, which means that when he gets back to Schitt’s Creek he’s usually tired and hungry and missing David. 

They’d talked the night before, and texted during the day, but he really has been occupied with the seminar, trying to take as many notes as possible and asking all the questions he can think of, because without fail whenever he takes his notes home to tell David about what he’s learned, even if David is reading a magazine or something at the same time, he comes up with these really insightful questions that Patrick wishes he’d asked. 

It’s funny, the small business seminars. Patrick isn’t the only one with a business degree, of course, but when he says that he runs a business instead of interning or consulting suddenly he gets a different tone from whomever he’s talking to, like the real life experience of bickering with David over the placement of bar soap versus liquid soap gives him some bizarre kind of credibility, in a certain way. 

Really, though, he loves that he gets to brag about the consignment structure of their business, and about how it was all David’s idea, and about how successful it’s turning out to be, even in such a small lower-middle-class town as Schitt’s Creek. This time he had two people tell him that he should be presenting, and he’s been turning over the idea in his head. 

He wants to talk to David about it first, see if maybe David wants to come and be a part of it, or if he hates the idea of his -- their -- business being put on display like that. Patrick had begged off the suggestion this time, saying he was here to learn and not talk about himself, but it wasn’t the first time someone had suggested it. And he _wants_ to talk about it. There’s no universe in which he doesn’t want to talk about David, and about the store that brought them together and occupies their days. 

When he opens the door to the apartment, he hears David and Alexis arguing, and it takes a second for him to realize that David’s on the phone with her, or something. 

“Hey,” Patrick calls, dropping his bag on the floor. David, sitting on the couch, looks up from Patrick’s laptop with a bright smile. 

“Patrick!” 

Patrick smiles back and goes to give him a kiss hello. 

“Hi,” he says, softly, and David smiles and kisses him again. 

“Hi, Patrick,” Alexis says from the laptop. She’s started getting a tan already, and she’s wearing one of her gold chain headband things, which is a bit distracting as it waves with every move of her head. 

“Hi, Alexis. How are you?” 

“Just fine, thank you, Patrick,” she says, pushing her hair out of her face. “What’s your opinion on arriving to your wedding in a carriage? Picture it: two to six horses, cute little driver man…” 

“Uh.” 

David gets up and moves behind the laptop, where he crosses his hands vigorously at Patrick. 

“I think we might go in another direction,” Patrick tells Alexis, his eyes on David’s adorable head-tilt of relief. 

“Whatever, David!” Alexis says loudly, like she knows he’s just standing out of sight. Patrick covers his grin with a hand and watches David throw his hands in the air. 

“This is _my_ wedding!” David shouts back, joining Patrick in front of the laptop again. Patrick raises his eyebrows. “Our wedding,” he corrects himself quickly. 

“I’d say I trust your judgment completely, but you did just order five boxes of soap bars of shampoo for the store,” Patrick says, stealing a sip from the glass of juice on the coffee table. 

“They’re _shampoo bars_ and they’re going to sell like the massage oils,” David insists, not for the first time. Patrick gives him a skeptical look, pressing down a smile. David seems to catch it, though, and smiles back. “What did Shep say about the presentation?” David asks, taking his juice back. 

“He, uh, offered me a slot next month,” Patrick says. “He said the local artisan focus is exactly what they’re looking for.” 

David taps Patrick’s arm with the back of his hand. “See?” 

“Aw,” Alexis coos from the laptop. Patrick flushes. He’d almost forgotten she was there. “You guys are so cute; little business men conquering the county.” David makes a face at her. “Sorry! It’s just, the time you just spent talking to each other cost Ted like ten bucks.” 

“How is Ted?” Patrick asks, draping his arm on the back of the couch, his fingers brushing David’s shoulder. 

“Ted says hi. He’s out collecting turtles or measuring sand or something.” 

“That sounds…” He looks at David, who raises his eyebrows and smiles like he’s trying not to laugh. “... good.” 

“Were there any hot tips at this seminar?” She winks. 

“Oh, yeah, actually. Did you know—“ 

“Okay,” David interrupts. “I love you, but we only have half an hour and we still have to discuss Ted’s weird…” He makes a hand gesture. “…thing.” 

“You two don’t talk about me like that, right?” Patrick asks, trying to sound only half-serious. By David’s guilty grimace he’s not sure that he succeeded. If not David and Alexis, then definitely David and Stevie do. David turns it back into a smile, though, and pets his arm. 

“Good things,” David mouths. 

“Okay,” Patrick says, mollified. “Have fun, you guys. I’ll be over here unpacking.” 

“Mmkay.” 

“Wait, Patrick, how did your run go today?” Alexis asks. 

Patrick hesitates and David hits his arm again. 

“What? Did _you_ run?” he asks David. 

“Of course I did,” David says, affronted. “Didn’t you?” 

“I — no, I was in and out of presentations all day.” 

“Patrick, we had a deal,” Alexis says sternly. David folds his arms and nods. 

“I am only doing this because you made me,” David says. 

“I didn’t ma— oh my god, fine, I’ll go now.” 

“Good,” Alexis says. “Byeee!” 

“You guys are gonna talk about me while I’m gone, aren’t you?” 

David shakes his head with a pouting frown. Alexis nods, beaming. He sighs. 

“Okay.” He squeezes David’s hand and turns to find some running clothes. He tries not to eavesdrop on their conversation about how their parents are coping with their children leaving the nest for a second time, but it’s a small apartment, and there’s not much he can do about it. He thinks that maybe they can go to dinner more often, he and David and Mr. and Mrs. Rose. Maybe that will help them feel better. He’ll bring it up with David later. 

When he’s ready to go, he joins David in front of the laptop again. 

“Alright, bye, Alexis. Nice seeing you.” David watches them wave at each other with an amused smile. “Bye,” he says to David, with a kiss. “Love you, see you later.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Run the whole thing! Don’t cheat!” Alexis calls out to him as he closes the door behind himself. 

He runs the same route that he and David usually take, but he has to keep reminding himself to slow down without David there to pace him. It hadn’t been what he’d been thinking of doing on the drive back, but it really is nice to stretch his legs and get some fresh air. 

He’s a little surprised, to be honest, that David ran without him, considering all the complaining. 

But then, he thinks, waving at Bob and Ronnie chatting outside the Town Hall, David’s always been good at pushing himself outside of his comfort zone, at least since Patrick’s known him. And with Alexis hounding him, of course he’d run, just to stay in step with his younger sister. 

Patrick’s thoughts drift to the wedding planning that she keeps bringing up. They haven’t set a date yet, figuring that all that will come after Alexis comes back, but maybe they should, just to cement it. Just to have something for them and Alexis to look forward to. He thinks he likes May or June. 

He doesn’t know where exactly David is thinking for a venue -- nothing in Schitt’s Creek seems grand enough. Where are they going to have it, in the motel parking lot? The barn? 

_At the house_ , his brain suggests, and he nearly stops in his tracks outside the store. 

It would be beautiful to have it outside, in the sunshine surrounded by trees, and they wouldn’t have to pay for a venue. It would be kind of romantic, even, as long as the bugs aren’t a problem. For the rest of their lives they could sit on the rocking bench and look out over the spot where they got married. They could even set a rain date, probably, given that almost everyone who’d come lives here in town. He nods to himself, and something fizzes in his chest, the same feeling he’d gotten picking out David’s rings: his best future, opening up. 

When he gets back, he heads directly to the shower, ready to wash off two days of motel bar soap (he’d forgotten to pack David-approved body wash. David can never know) and half an hour of running. Halfway through his shower, the bathroom door opens and David comes in and leans on the sink. 

“Do you want to visit your parents sometime soon?” David asks. Patrick can see the silhouette of him turning his phone around in his hands through the shower curtain. He peeks around the curtain. 

“Why?” 

David shrugs. “I just thought you might like to. We didn’t get to see them for very long while they were here.” 

Patrick thinks about it. They could probably swing a few days away from the store, if they put up a sign a week or two ahead of time. If they need to make up revenue, they can have a mid-summer sale, or something. 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Good? Or nice?” David teases, and outright giggles when Patrick splashes water at him around the curtain. 

“I’ll call them later.” 

“Alright.” David smiles and taps his phone to his chin. Patrick pulls the curtain closed, then opens it again. 

“Hey.”

“Mm?” 

“What do you think about getting married at the house?”

David’s mouth gapes open. Patrick watches him think and forces himself not to babble. _If David doesn’t like it, it’s fine, it’s fine_ , he tells himself. They’ll figure something out. 

“I,” David starts, and closes his mouth.

“I was thinking June.” 

David’s mouth curves into a smile, and he brings up his left hand in front of his mouth. He nods. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that -- that sounds good. We could do that.” 

“It’s just an idea,” Patrick says, unable to hold back the babbling any longer. “I just thought --” 

“No.” He pauses to look down at his rings. Patrick shivers and wishes he hadn’t done this while he was half in the shower. “I love it. I love -- it’s perfect.” David’s mouth breaks into a grin, and he blushes. Patrick nods, grinning back. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay. God, I can’t wait to marry you.” 

Patrick winks and closes the curtain. He goes back to lathering under his arms and notices that David is still there. He looks around the curtain again. David leers. 

“Need any help?” 

Patrick gives him a look and slides open the curtain. David unsuccessfully tries to pull back his grin, and only half-carefully removes his clothes, and sets them on the closed toilet seat before climbing into the shower. David reaches around him to grab the loofah and massages it with his Rose Apothecary body wash to get it to foam. Patrick stands under the water, watching him, and David backs him up until they’re both under the spray, the water slicking down David’s hair. Patrick pulls him in for a kiss, ignoring how the water is going up his nose, until he can’t breathe, and then he and David are both coughing and laughing at the same time. 

“Okay, maybe no shower sex,” Patrick says, but his hands are still on David’s hips. David smiles. 

“I think we just need practice.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

“And we’ll need practice at the house, too.” 

“Mm. Different shower.” 

“Lots of practice,” David says, grinning down at him. 

“If we have to.” Patrick pulls him in for a kiss. 

David turns them so the spray is at David’s back, shielding Patrick’s face from the water, and David kisses him again, sliding the loofah down Patrick’s back. 

“This isn’t very efficient,” Patrick mumbles against his lips. 

“I’m getting there,” David murmurs. 

It ends up being a very long shower. 

After they’re dry again, David pulls Patrick onto the bed and uses his chest as a pillow. Patrick cards a hand through his hair; product-less, it’s soft and smooth. 

“You really went running without me, huh.” 

“Of course. I can’t let Alexis beat me.” 

“Right.” 

“And I may have been on the phone with Stevie at the time. Apparently my dad is being really annoying with Alexis gone.” 

“Mm.” 

“Like he doesn’t still have one child here.” 

“It’s the first time that room has been empty since you guys moved here, though. It must be tough.” 

“Yeah, okay.” David squirms and throws an arm across Patrick’s stomach. “I do miss her.” 

“I know.” 

“But I am glad she’s not here to try to take over the wedding planning. I like your idea.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Okay, I have to ask, though.” David sits up and looks down at Patrick. Patrick is still kind of limb-dead after the shower, and doesn’t bother moving. “Is the idea, like, practical and money-saving, or romantic and The-Notebook-at-sunset-y?” 

“Why _that_ movie?” David rolls his eyes at Patrick starting the familiar debate. “It’s, like, the saddest movie you’ve ever made me watch.” 

“The house, okay, he bought the house for her and fixed it up and then they fell in love and -- okay, no, you’re distracting me.” David waves a finger in Patrick’s face. Patrick tries to hold back a laugh. 

“I don’t know, David. Both? I just thought -- there’s nowhere else around here that seemed good enough.” David’s face goes fond and Patrick smiles back. “I thought it would be nice, you know, that in fifty years we’ll still be able to have coffee looking over the lawn where we got married.” 

“It is nice,” David says softly. “Thank you.” Patrick lifts a hand to cup the back of David’s neck, and bring him down for a kiss. David obliges, and runs a hand down Patrick’s chest, and oh, engaged sex is the _best_. 

#### Week Four

Patrick is enjoying a beer and a baseball game on TV when Alexis calls. David’s out with Mrs. Rose and the store is closed today and he can just sit back and enjoy the game without having to field David’s observations about the uniforms or about the weird ways the players stand in the field while waiting for the ball to be hit. He’s taking a sip of beer when his phone rings, and he frowns at it before answering.

“Hello?” 

“Patrick?” 

“Alexis? Are you looking for David? He’s not here; he’s out with your mom.” 

“No, I. I don’t know. I tried calling him.” 

“Are you okay?” he asks, sitting up straight and muting the TV. He checks the clock -- he’s not expecting David back for another hour or two. 

“I’m fine,” she says with a sniff. 

“Are you sure?” He hesitates. “I know I’m not David, but he can vouch for me -- I’m a good listener.” 

She laughs weakly. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, gently. 

“Ted and I had a fight.” 

“What happened?” 

“Is David really not there? I just… wanted to talk to him.” 

“I’m sorry,” Patrick says, and uselessly checks the microwave clock again. “They’re out doing stuff for the wedding and I know his phone battery was low a while ago so it might be dead. You could try calling your mom?” Alexis scoffs. “Yeah.” 

“God, this sucks,” Alexis says thickly. “I wish he was here. I miss him -- you. I miss all of you so much, and I didn’t think it would be this hard.” 

“We miss you too. David lives for your emails, Alexis.” 

“Yeah.” 

Patrick sits in silence for a minute, listening to her breathe. He doesn’t have any sisters, and isn’t really sure how to do this, but he’s been a close observer of David’s unique relationship with her. _You’re going to be a Rose_ , he hears her say in his head. _Suck it up_ , he tells himself. He can do this. 

“Did Ted do something?” he asks tentatively. She doesn’t say anything. “Alexis, what did he do?” 

“He told me to go home,” she says quietly. 

“ _What?_ ” 

“We were talking about how there are no jobs here for me and how we don’t have any alone time here and he works _so much_ and I miss my family and it’s so _hard_ being here and he said -- we both decided, mutually, that maybe it would be better if I left and came home.” 

“God, Alexis. Okay.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“No, Alexis, look.” He takes a deep breath and decides to just go. “I think it’s normal to fight when you’re away together for the first time, especially so far away, for such a long time.” 

“No, you don’t get it. He was _mad_.” 

“Weren’t you? Look, if you really want to come home, you know your family would be beyond happy to see you. We can all go running together.” She huffs a laugh and he thinks that maybe he might be able to do this. “Do you want to try to work it out, or do you want to come home? It’s entirely up to you.” There’s rustling sound on the other end and for a second he worries that the connection has cut out. 

“No, sorry, I’m talking to my brother-in-law,” he hears Alexis say, muffled as if she’s put the phone against her shoulder. He smiles to himself. “Two minutes. Okay. Patrick?” she says into the phone. 

“Yep?” 

“Can you have David call me when you see him? Even if it’s late.” 

“Sure.” 

“And -- thanks.” 

“Anytime.” 

He waits for her to hang up and then breathes really deeply for a minute. He gets up and paces, then turns off the TV and goes to find his running clothes. David might be annoyed with him for running without him, but he can’t just sit in this apartment for another hour or two. He could go to the store and clean, or head to the cafe and talk to Twyla, but what he really wants to do is run until his legs and lungs stop burning for movement. 

Out of habit, he turns on the app and presses START. He doesn’t really want to wait to warm up, but he does it anyway, heading out to one of the trails through the woods that loops around town and ends up at the other end of the main drag. The first run section is easy enough, three minutes, but he must go too fast or something, because then during the second run for five minutes he can’t seem to catch his breath. He tries to push through it, tries to breathe only on every other left step, or every other right step, and eventually he has to stop. He pauses the app. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says to nobody. It’s the middle of the day; the only things out here are him and the trees. “Fuck!” 

He’s going to have a house with David. He’s going to be a Rose. He’ll be related to Alexis, and Moira, and Johnny, and Moira’s estranged sister, and random relatives he hasn’t even heard about yet. He’ll probably be related to Ted. 

He can’t stop thinking about Rachel’s family. They’d been so close, of course they had, after almost fifteen years of on-and-off dating. Her family had seen them off to prom, off to college, off to their second breakup. For over a decade of his life he’d always, always imagined his future with them in it. Thanksgivings, Christmases, summer barbecues, all with her family. For god’s sake, he’d been part of their original plans for a cruise for her grandparents’ sixtieth in the spring. 

It had all fallen apart so quickly, and he’d had nowhere to go but back to his childhood bedroom in his parents’ house, all of it gone in seconds. “Fuck,” he says again, his hands on his knees as he tries to breathe. “Jesus Christ, this is so stupid.” 

David’s already cleared out of the motel, but if he needed to he could get the room back, probably, although it might take a day or two. Patrick’s giving up his apartment, but Ray would probably let him crash there if he had to. He feels sick just thinking about it. He wants the house with David more than anything he’s ever wanted before in his life. God, he wishes David were here. He pulls out his phone to call him before he remembers that David’s phone is probably dead. 

_Okay_ , he tells himself, _keep going. Finish the damn run_. He takes another breath and presses RESUME. After only about a minute in, he starts getting a wicked stitch on the right side and digs a knuckle right into the painful spot. If he can just massage the stitch out, he can finish. The toe of his shoe nearly catches on a tree root and he misses a breath. 

The app tells him to walk. He slows and raises his hands above his head, lacing his fingers together and leaning his head back into his hands as he walks, trying to get some control back. 

“Begin running,” the app announces too soon. 

“Oh, fuck you,” he mutters, and starts jogging. He breathes out on the left step only, and if the stitch isn’t going away, it’s at least not getting worse. 

Something about Alexis’s call had stirred up something that had been simmering in his subconscious for a while. What if they get the house, get married, and start fighting? What they have is -- god, it’s perfect. Patrick doesn’t know how he’d survive losing it. 

He knows, logically, that they’ve already been more or less living together in his tiny apartment for a while now, and they’ve been doing it successfully. They’ve dealt with arguments without either of them having to sleep somewhere else for a night. They’ve sorted out who cooks and who does the dishes and who takes out the trash and who does the laundry when it starts getting rank and a laundry system that satisfies both of them. He reaches the end of the trail and turns onto the road. 

He just can’t forget the awful feeling when he ended things with Rachel for good, the entirely consuming grief when he realized just how much he was giving up. This time, though, it’s _David_ ; it’s _everything_. His feet pound the road faster. The app tells him to walk again, and he ignores it. 

He passes the town hall and almost doesn’t hear David shouting his name. 

“Patrick!” David shouts again. Patrick slows to a stop and pulls out his earbuds. “Are you running?” David asks. Patrick raises his eyebrows, and David waves a hand in the air. “Stupid question. _Why_ are you running? I thought we were going later.” David touches Patrick’s elbow. 

“Sorry, David, I just had to --” He swallows. “I just had to get out.” He forces a smile at David. “It’s fine. I’m sorry.” 

“It doesn’t look fine,” David says, his eyebrows pulled together. He steers Patrick toward the apartment with a hand on his back. 

“Alexis called,” Patrick says finally. 

“She did?” David checks his phone; it is, indeed, dead. “Damn it.” 

“She said to call her when you can.” 

“Okay. And this rattled you so much you had to run it out?” 

David unlocks the door and leads him upstairs. 

“No, I -- well, sort of.” 

“Sort of?” 

Patrick sighs. “I don’t know. She and Ted are arguing, I guess, and it just -- freaked me out a little.” 

“That she and Ted are fighting?” David asks incredulously. He plugs his phone into the charger on his side of the bed and starts rooting through the exercise clothes drawer (mostly Patrick’s old t-shirts and basketball shorts). 

“I guess. What are you doing?” 

“I’m getting ready to go running.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Because when I call her, I have to be able to tell her that I ran today.” Patrick nods and looks at his hands. “And because you have to run it out, apparently. I’m marrying someone who ‘runs it out,’” David adds wonderingly. 

“I love you, David,” Patrick says, his voice going a little desperate. 

“I know.” 

“I don’t want to mess this up.” 

David looks at him before pulling off his sweater. “What makes you think you’re going to be the one to mess this up?” 

“David, I’m serious.” 

“So am I.” 

“I don’t want to lose this.” 

David pulls a faded white t-shirt over his head. Patrick can’t even tell what it used to say across the front, and he suspects that that’s why David picked it. He watches as David carefully tugs off his pants and pulls on a pair of shorts and knee socks. Once he’s dressed, David comes up to him and presses a kiss to the side of his head. 

“I love you,” David says softly. 

“I love you, too.” 

“Let’s get this run over with.” 

They don’t talk about it until the app tells them to run, and Patrick suspects this is deliberate on David’s part. They’ll both be out of breath shortly. 

“I don’t think we’re going to mess this up,” David says. 

“I mean, I hope not, but --” 

“No. I don’t think we are. I know you, Patrick.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I know you and I love you and we’re going to be so happy.” 

“That’s a lot of optimism, coming from you.”

“I know,” David says, cracking a smile. “I must have picked it up from my fiancé. He’s kind of a smart guy.” 

Patrick is startled into a laugh. 

“So what’s going on?” David asks, starting to breathe heavily. His face is red and Patrick can tell he’s fighting every instinct that’s telling him to stop and, god, Patrick loves him. 

“Alexis and Ted,” he starts, and can’t continue. He swallows, coughs. “And then me and Rachel.” David doesn’t say anything, still breathing heavily, but circles a hand. _Keep going_. “I guess. I just. I can’t let you down. I can’t let that happen, I can’t --” 

“Okay, A,” David interrupts, “this really... fucking sucks and I hate you for... making me run. B, You are the fucking love... of my _fucking_ life, and I can tell you that --” He pauses to gulp a shallow breath. “I never thought I deserved anything like what you give me.” The app tells them to walk. “Oh thank fucking god,” David groans. 

Patrick presses his knuckles to his eyes and tries to calm the fuck down. “Hey.” David tugs Patrick’s wrist down. “I know I’ve kind of laid claim to the whole wasteland of emotional breakdowns, but that just means you’ve got a surfeit to make up.” Patrick chokes a laugh. “I don’t even know if I’m doing this right, but--” The app tells them to start running. “Okay, no,” David snaps; he grabs Patrick’s phone and jabs the PAUSE button. He hands the phone back and rubs Patrick’s shoulders. “I love you. Commitment is scary as fuck, especially when we’ve both been burned by -- well. Ourselves.” 

“David.” 

“No, I’ve got this. Okay. It’s scary as fuck, but I love you. You are the best thing that’s happened to me, second only to getting stuck in this fucking town, because it led me here.” Patrick rubs away a tear and takes a deep breath in and out. “You’re not going to let me down,” David says softly. “I love you even when you put me through this hell.” 

“Good to know.” 

David smiles and nods. “Do you want to keep going?” 

“Hold on.” He swallows and places his palm on David’s cheek; David keeps smiling at him. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

He tilts his head for a kiss, and David obliges, a hand curled up on his chest between them. Patrick’s shirt is disgustingly sweaty, but David doesn’t seem to mind. Patrick presses RESUME and David groans. 

They don’t talk again until the app tells them to walk. Patrick passed by that exact tree stump an hour ago, ready to cry, and he can’t even feel that whirlwind in his chest anymore. 

“David,” he says seriously, pulling David to a stop. 

“Hey,” David protests, but he’s smiling. 

“You are one of the smartest people I know, and the kindest, and bravest, and I’m so lucky I get to marry you.” 

David looks down at his feet and his mouth does something funny, pulled to the side. 

“Okay, remember what I said about proposing?” David says finally. “You only get one per year if there’s no jewelry involved.” Patrick laughs again. 

“Does it count if I’m still building off the first one?” 

“I guess that’s allowed,” David says with a smile. He leans in to kiss him. “Okay, but don’t hug me. I’m all gross.” 

“Okay.” Patrick takes a breath and tries to collect himself. “Should we keep going?” 

David calls Alexis after claiming the first shower. Patrick can hear him talking through the bathroom door, and breathes. He’s got another hickey on the base of his neck, and now he’ll have to button his collars all the way again for a few days. Thank god he won’t have to resort to scarves or turtlenecks. Yet. 

#### Week Five

They go to visit his parents, and Stevie extracts some promise from David in exchange for leaving her to deal with his parents alone for three days. Patrick doesn’t ask but he makes sure to thank her. 

The drive up to see them takes four hours. The way into Schitt’s Creek, over two years ago, he’d been pathetically listening to his angstiest playlist and not really paying attention to how long he was driving; this time, he’s got David with him in the passenger seat, managing the music and offering commentary on everything from Patrick’s CD collection to the towns rolling past them to how uncomfortable the car seats are. 

“Where are the snacks?” David asks at hour two, peering into the back seat. 

“Green backpack.” 

“Mm, thank you.” David unbuckles his seatbelt and twists around to reach it, using a hand on Patrick’s shoulder for leverage. He pulls the backpack into the front and drops it on the floor between his feet. 

“Okay, buckle, please,” Patrick says, glancing at him. David does and pats his arm. 

“What did you bring?” David asks as he unzips the biggest pouch. “Ooh, Cheez-its.” David pops open the inner bag and eats a few before taking Patrick’s hand off the wheel and placing a few crackers in his palm. 

“Thank you.” 

“Welcome.” 

They demolish half the box before David speaks again. 

“Tell me about the room you grew up in. Will I get to see posters of buff baseball players all over the walls?” 

“No, I, uh, got rid of those a few years ago.” 

“Uh huh. Big redecoration?” 

“Yeah, they wanted a guest room.” 

“Funny that they didn’t want your baseball posters in their guest room.” 

“I know, isn’t it?” 

“So how much sports should I prepare for?” 

“None, really. I mean, my mom will have a basketball game on, but we don’t have to watch.” 

“I like that answer.” 

“Can I ask you something?” David nods. “Did you bring home everyone you dated?” 

“Well,” David says slowly, “I didn’t really ‘date’ much? As you know. So sort of, yes, but also no. Not like — not like this.” 

“Right.” 

“Also, we weren’t all together then. I saw Alexis maybe once a month at the most, and whenever I had to rescue her from her nightmare of the week, but she never would have called me like she does now. I don’t think my parents would have cared to remember the name of the person I was dating, not that it mattered.” 

“I’m sure they would.” 

“Maybe. My dad would try, and get it wrong. But you know them now.” 

“I do.” 

Mr. Rose asks about his parents, and genuinely listens to the answer. Mrs. Rose still calls him her star performer, even four weeks after the show closed. They both include him in conversation when the four of them and occasionally Stevie have dinner on Thursday nights. 

“Sometimes I wonder if we could’ve been this before. Are we different people now? Or are we just bad people, for not trying hard enough before?” Patrick feels his heart crack a little. 

“I’m sorry, David, I didn’t mean —“ 

“No, it’s fine. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I — I want to be a good person.” 

“You are, David.” 

“I love you for thinking that. But I am really — I’m good at being Stevie’s friend, and I’m good at being with you, but I’m not good in — in general. I don’t think.” 

“Okay, David,” Patrick says, before David can veer off in this direction too much further. He wishes he weren’t driving, so he could look David in the eye as he says this. “I don’t know who’s convinced you that you’re not, but you are without a doubt one of the best people I know. You are my _favorite_ person.” David smiles and looks down at his lap, the cheez-its back in the bag at his feet. “And I don’t think you can divide people like that. I think we’re all good and bad.” 

“Okay, now you just sound like instagram copy.” 

“I mean it!” Patrick protests. The car in front of them brakes suddenly and he swears under his breath. David reaches out and pets his arm. 

“I am trying, though,” David says, reaching for a few more crackers. 

“You are that,” Patrick teases. David hits him in the shoulder and he laughs. “Thank you for getting us to do this,” he says more seriously. 

“You’re welcome,” David says with a smile. “Be prepared for a lot of wedding talk with your dad, by the way.” 

“Is that what you guys talk about when he calls?” 

“Don’t worry; I promise to say only nice things about you.” 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” 

“I make no promises about which stories your dad may or may not choose to tell me.” 

When they pull into the drive, his parents are waiting outside for them, waving. David looks a little startled and Patrick just smiles at him. _Unto the breach, then_ , he thinks, and his parents pull open the car doors impatiently. 

David is at his most charming all night, offering to help set the table (and happily sitting back when Patrick’s mom insists that Patrick has it under control) and chatting with Patrick’s dad in the den as they munch on salted pistachios, dropping shells into the little green-glazed clay misshapen dish that Patrick had made at school probably about twenty years ago now. Patrick, standing at the kitchen island with his mom with a game on the little television, watches David’s hands flit through the air as he gestures and doesn’t realize his mom is watching him watch David until she clears her throat. 

“We like him a lot,” she says quietly, nodding over at them. Patrick nods, tearing his eyes away from watching him gesticulate, and her eyes go misty. “I’m so glad you found him, sweetheart.” 

“Me too.” 

“You know we loved Rachel, but --” 

“Mom, please --” 

“I’ve never seen you so happy, honey.” Patrick’s heart clenches and she smiles at him like she knows. “You seem so much more relaxed.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I really am. He makes me feel so _alive_ , Mom. And -- and loved.” 

“I can see that,” she says, squeezing his arm. “I guess I never really saw just how unhappy you were before, and not just with Rachel. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

“Mom, it’s — I’m okay.” She stares at him with a watery smile, and Patrick smiles reassuringly. 

“I just feel so badly that we didn’t see you locking yourself up for so long.” 

“He makes me feel right.” Patrick looks down at his beer bottle, and over to David, who’s miming something about a jacket. 

“He makes you _glow_.” Patrick feels his face flush. “And _four_ engagement rings?” 

“Yeah. He’s, uh. One of a kind.” 

“In a good way,” she adds, poking his arm. 

“Oh, definitely.” 

“Thank you for bringing him here. Your dad’s been a cleaning maniac for the last few days.” Patrick laughs. “It was David’s idea, actually.” 

“Oh, points to him.” He clinks the neck of his beer bottle with hers. “I think the casserole is almost ready. Want to grab them? Save your fiancé from your father. He’s been talking about this nonstop for a week.” Patrick kisses her cheek and heads over. 

“... and tomorrow is five minutes of running, three times,” David is saying. Patrick’s dad nods, peering through his reading glasses at David’s phone in his hands. “Hi,” David says cheerfully when he notices Patrick. 

“Hey. What are we talking about?” 

“This, uh, running thing you guys are doing,” his dad answers, barely tearing his eyes away from the running app, and hands David’s phone back. “Pretty ambitious.” 

“It was Patrick’s idea,” David says, smiling up at him. Patrick smiles back. 

“Ready to eat?” 

David’s face brightens. 

Patrick wakes up the next morning in his old full-size bed, David laying next to him with the sheet pulled up over his mouth as he types something on his phone. Patrick rolls over onto David’s shoulder and tugs the sheet down so he can see the rest of his face. 

“Turns out my dad is already driving Stevie crazy,” David says with a wry smile. 

“Mm. Good morning.” 

“Hello.” 

“They haven’t burnt down the motel?” 

“Still standing, as far as I can tell.” 

“Hmm.” 

“I had a weird dream,” David says, putting his phone down on the bed and turning to face Patrick. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Alexis brought back a box full of turtles from the Galapagos and then somehow we were all in the store watching them and people wanted to buy them but we had to protect them for Ted.” 

“Wow.” 

“It was very stressful.” David’s grimace turns into a smile as he leans over to kiss Patrick. Patrick hooks a leg over David’s hips and pats his chest. 

“It sounds awful,” Patrick teases. David looks like he’s trying to rein in his smile and failing. “Do you think you’re going to be able to run today?” 

“I don’t think so,” David says, shaking his head. “I think I need some time to recuperate,” he adds shakily, but he grins when Patrick leans in to kiss him again. 

“Come on,” Patrick says. He pats David’s hip. “The sooner we do this, the sooner we can have breakfast.” 

“Mm. A very persuasive argument.” 

On the run, Patrick leads him down the dirt road his high school baseball team had used for training runs. Unfortunately, it was recently regraded, and occasionally a car flies past kicking up dirt and David coughs through the dust. 

“Sorry!” Patrick shouts. “I forgot to warn you: hold your breath and shut your eyes.” 

“Yeah,” David coughs, slowing down as he wipes at his eyes. “This is really fun; I can see why you wanted to show me this.” 

“I’m sorry, David. I promise the view is worth it.”

“Does ‘view’ mean ‘hill?’” 

Patrick winces. “Hopefully we can walk up it.” David shoots him a glare. 

“I just know,” David pants, “Alexis is trotting around some beautiful island, on a flat paved path with 360 beach views.” 

“But David, North America has so much charm,” Patrick says dryly. “Look, a salamander!” 

“Eugh.” The app tells them to walk and David stumbles a little to slow down. 

“Would you really want to go live somewhere else for that long?” Patrick asks, checking the time on his phone. His parents usually have breakfast in about thirty minutes, so they won’t be able to really take in the view at the turn-around point. Maybe another time. 

“If they have beaches and mai tais, sure,” David says. 

“Really?” 

“Okay, I guess if you wanted to work in the Galapagos, I would go with you,” David says, waving a hand. 

“If you wanted to move back to New York, I would go with you.” 

David stops in the middle of the road and something about his face twigs something in Patrick’s subconscious. 

“Wait, _do_ you want to move back to New York?” 

“I -- no.” 

“We’re buying a house, David.” Patrick can feel a whirl of panic building in his chest. 

“I know!” 

“Oh my god.” Patrick drags a hand down his face. 

“No, okay, stop,” David says, placing his hands on Patrick’s shoulders. “I want to live with you. I want that house. In another life, okay, if we wanted to move back to the city, I would be happy with that, but that’s not my life anymore, you _know_ that.” Patrick bites his lip and David gently shakes his shoulders. “I love you, I love our life, I love the store, I love that we’re going to have such a beautiful home.” 

“But, David --” 

“If someday, ten years down the line,” David interrupts, gesturing with a wave of his head, “we decide that we want to expand the store, and it looks like the right move, I would also be okay with going back to the city.”

“David --”

“Only if it’s right,” David says firmly, looking Patrick in the eye. “Only if you’re with me.” Patrick swallows. 

“Okay.” 

“Now, where’s the view? I was promised a makeout point.” 

“I don’t know if I said _that_.” 

The app tells them to start running; David breaks into a jog first and Patrick has to catch up. They do alright for three minutes, until they approach the hill. 

“Oh my god,” David pants. “This is the worst.” He’s moving at a slow jog but Patrick isn’t sure even he could move any faster. 

“The runs are five minutes this week,” Patrick says breathlessly. 

“I know,” David says, annoyed. “I _know_ the runs are five minutes this week.” 

“We’ve done three minutes. We can do five.” 

“Shut _up_ , oh my god.” 

“Come on, David.” 

David grunts and starts flailing his arms like he’s going to stop running. 

“Come on; we’re almost there.” David moans and keeps flailing but keeps jogging. “We get to go downhill on the way back.” 

“This is… the worst,” David gasps. Patrick’s legs take him over the top of the hill and the app tells them to start walking. Patrick stops entirely and bends over, his hands on his knees. David comes to a stop next to him and groans. “That’s it,” David says, breathing heavily. “I’m done. No more.” 

Patrick stands up straight and claps a hand on David’s shoulder. 

“We’ve got about a minute to take in the view,” he says. David throws his head back. “I think you were looking for the makeout point?” 

“Okay, fine,” David says breathily. Patrick takes his hand and pulls him through a break in the trees that leads out to a small clearing on the side of the hill, opening up to a view of the hills around, dotted with houses. “Oh, alright,” David says, squinting out at the view. He grins as Patrick kisses him and drapes his arms over Patrick’s shoulders. His hair is sticking to his temples with sweat, and his cheeks are flushed and his eyes bright. Patrick curls a bit of hair behind David’s ear and David smiles. “So is this what high school Patrick was doing on a Friday night?” 

“Mm. In his dreams.” 

“That’s sweet.” 

_Begin running_ , the app says. David groans and follows as Patrick starts jogging back to the road. 

“Come on, David. Downhill. Breakfast.” 

“I hate this,” David complains. “I think I’m dying.” 

“You’re not dying.” 

“Tell me nice things.” 

“My mom gets this really fancy bacon from a local place for special occasions. Like if her only child is visiting with his fiancé.” 

“That’s nice.” 

“When we move into our house we can get a grill and barbecue everything in the summer.” 

“Oh, I like that.” 

“The grill?” 

“Our house. Oh, my god, I think I have a cramp.” 

“Breathe through it.” 

“I am.” 

“Breathe out when you land on the opposite foot.” 

“I am!” 

#### Week Six

“Okay, you deal with her,” David snaps, standing and dropping the laptop in Patrick’s lap. “I’m going to go meet Stevie at the bar.” 

“Wait, why can’t I come to the bar?” Patrick has been reading and admittedly not really paying attention to David’s huffs. 

“Because you’re dealing with my demon sibling.” 

Patrick looks from his fiance down to the laptop now on his lap. 

_David,_

_That’s so stupid. You need more! You know when I helped Neil and David plan their wedding they wanted doves and I was like no way do you even know the MESS? And of course then Stavros was like, we have to go meet his dealer in Tegus, and the whole thing was up in the air. Like, hello, carrier pigeons went out for a REASON, and that reason was not because of all the rice they were eating at weddings. Anyway, are you sure you guys are THAT VIBE? You’re more like that baseball game in Twilight, you know? CALL ME I want to know how the 5k is going._

_A_

“I don’t… understand any of this,” Patrick says, frowning at the email message. 

“She’s being a bitch, is what it means,” David snarls, one hand on his hip and flapping the other. 

“Okay,” Patrick says slowly. “Do you really want to go to the bar? It’s like four o’clock.” 

“With the sun out, it’s too hot out to run anyway.” 

“You want to go drink and _then_ run later tonight.” 

“Well, I don’t know!” David looks down at his phone. “Stevie says she’s working.” 

“That’s a shame.” 

“But that we can come over and hang out with her while she’s on shift.” 

Patrick raises his eyebrows. David gives him a pleading look. 

“She has AC,” David says. “Look, finish your book and meet me later.” 

Patrick nods and watches David lace up his shoes and whirl out the door, hands fluttering in a wave as he leaves. The apartment is suddenly really quiet and Patrick glances back down at the laptop. He sighs, shuts his book, and puts it on the coffee table. 

He takes the time to go over the books for the store and goes to find David a few hours later, wondering not for the first time how David is so innovative as to come up with things like _shampoo bars_ that actually sell, even in Schitt’s Creek. He wants to sit him down and interview him, or something, to get answers to what goes on inside his brain, but he’s pretty sure he’s only ever going to understand through osmosis, by being by his side. He’ll spend the rest of his life in awe of his husband ( _husband_ ); it’ll be a fantastic way to spend their years. 

He can hear Stevie cackling before he even opens the door to the lobby, and finds them sprawled together on the couch, an empty bottle of wine on the table in front of them. 

“Oh hi,” Stevie says. She breaks out into laughter again. 

“Patrick!” David beams. “ _Hi_.” Patrick feels his heart spill out onto the floor. 

“Hi. What’s going on here?” he asks, grinning. Stevie hiccups. 

“We’re getting _drunk_ on the _job_ ,” Stevie not-quite-whispers. 

“Not my job!” David protests. “I don’t work here.” 

“Okay,” Patrick says. He rubs David’s shoulder. “I thought we were going running?” David flexes his hands and gives Patrick a guilty look. 

“Okay, but we had _wine_ , though.” 

“Yeah, Patrick,” Stevie adds. 

“So were just skipping the run, then,” Patrick says, eyebrows raised at David. 

“Tomorrow,” David promises. 

“Okay.” Patrick sighs. He gets to deal with a hungover David at the store tomorrow, and then run after they close if they’re going to keep up with Alexis. He’s not looking forward to it, but David plucks at Patrick’s belt loops, smiling up at him, and he cares a little bit less. “Is there any more wine?” 

Stevie gives him a thumbs-up and swings to her feet. She weaves her way to the back room of the office. Patrick sits on the arm of the couch next to David and rubs the back of his neck. David drapes his arm over Patrick’s legs and closes his eyes. 

“Did you tell her about Alexis?” 

“No,” David says sourly. “We’re talking about _nice_ things.” 

“Ah.” He strokes his fingers through the hair at the back of David’s head. David picks at the seam of Patrick’s jeans. 

“I asked Stevie to be my best person.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mm.” 

“Not Alexis?” 

David scowls. 

“Here’s an idea,” Patrick says. He wonders where Stevie is. “What if Alexis was _my_ best person?” He’s planning on asking two of his college buddies and his cousin to be groomsmen, anyway, and none of them have the time, and he suspects Alexis would be just as involved either way. 

“You would do that?” David asks uncertainly. 

“Of course. She’s family.” David smiles at him. 

“ _Speaking_ of which,” Stevie shouts, “your dad is on his way.” She peeks her head around the corner at them. “Hide the wine,” she hisses. 

“Oh my god.” 

Before they can move, Mr. Rose opens the door, asking for Stevie before realizing what’s going on. 

“Hi Dad,” David says, squinting. He’s slouching in a way he never does sober and leaning heavily on Patrick’s thigh. 

“David,” Mr. Rose says slowly. “Where’s Stevie? My employee?” 

“Mmkay, she’s the owner, though.” 

“I”m here,” Stevie says meekly, coming out of the back office, holding a new bottle of wine. “Does this mean I’m not employee of the month?” 

David snorts and covers his mouth. Patrick bites back a laugh and Stevie glares. Mr. Rose sighs. 

“Patrick, nice to see you.” 

“You too, Mr. Rose.” 

“Well?” Mr. Rose asks all of them. They look at each other. “Do I get any or did you drink it all?” 

“Yes, of course,” Stevie says quickly, nodding vigorously. She fumbles for the bottle opener and David reaches over Patrick’s lap to grab some cups by the coffeemaker. 

“Where’s Mom?” David asks, holding the cups for Stevie to pour into. 

“Oh, she’s out with the gals. You know, Stevie, after Cabaret I think you’d be a shoo-in for the Jazzagals.” David snorts. 

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” she says. David hands out the paper coffee cups of wine, tapping his against the rim of Patrick’s. 

“Do we have any more guests checking in?” Mr. Rose asks. Stevie shakes her head and he takes a healthy sip. 

“Tell him about your business seminar,” David suggests, petting Patrick’s knee. 

“I’m giving a presentation on the Apothecary in a couple weeks,” Patrick says. 

“Oh?” Mr. Rose asks. “What’s the topic?” 

“It’s actually David’s business structure, and how we make it work in a small town. Promoting local vendors, and all that.” 

“Wow, David!” 

“Yeah, I’m not going,” David says. Stevie drops down on the couch next to him and pulls her feet up. 

“David, you can come if you want to,” Patrick says, not for the first time. “It’s your business.” 

“No, thank you.” 

“Tell me more about the seminars,” Mr. Rose interrupts. David pats Patrick’s leg and turns to talk to Stevie. 

Mrs. Rose shows up in the middle of Mr. Rose trying to convince them to have placards for the motel at the wedding. 

“ _Absolutely not_ ,” David says. Stevie’s eyes light up as she clearly sees an opportunity to mess with him, and the door bangs open as Mrs. Rose makes her entrance. Her wig is blond and spiky today. 

“Stevie, have you seen — John! There you are.” 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

“What is the impetus behind these libations?” 

“Just some fun, Mrs. Rose,” Stevie says. 

“Well, I have some news to announce, if anyone would care to pour me a glass.” Mr. Rose obliges. 

David looks at his (bare) wrist, and then up at Patrick. Patrick is feeling pleasantly warm and ready to go to sleep; he nods and strokes the nape of David’s neck. 

“Jocelyn has offered me a role purveying the world to our fellow small-townspeople,” Mrs. Rose says with a broad sweep of an arm. 

“What does that mean, exactly?” Stevie asks. 

“She has set up a group of interested people to listen to the stories of my travels. Oh, the gifts I could give!” 

“Do you have any of those gifts?” David asks. 

“David, you don’t know all the things I’ve seen!” 

“Ew.”

“I have _stories_ and _experience_ and people want to hear about it!” 

“That sounds great, sweetheart,” Mr. Rose says. “And this is at the school?” 

“Yeah, don’t you need some kind of degree to be a teacher?” David asks, squinting. 

“Oh, can you imagine?” Mrs. Rose says. “No, it’s a club she’s putting together for the curious adults around town.” 

“Okay, that doesn’t mean what you think it means.” Stevie meets Patrick’s eye and looks just as nonplussed as he feels. 

“John, help me explain this.” 

“I would, honey, if I... could.” 

David taps insistently on Patrick’s wrist. 

“I think we need to, uh, go,” Patrick says. 

“Oh, me too,” Stevie says hastily. “They’re walking me home.” 

“Are we,” David says. 

“Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Rose,” Patrick says as politely as he can. Stevie waves and follows him out the door, and David lets himself be pulled into a hug from his father and a cheek-kiss from his mother before he escapes. 

Making up the run the next day is exactly as horrible as Patrick expects it to be. David complains the whole time, Patrick still feels nauseated, and they break up the last run into runs and walks. David makes Patrick promise not to tell Alexis, but then David ends up admitting it to her anyway when he calls her that night to yell at her about vampires and pigeons and god knows what else. All Patrick knows is that by the time he goes to bed, they’ve moved on to arguing about David’s suit, going suit-by-suit through what sounds like his entire history of wearing them. 

#### Week Seven

Patrick wakes up at seven and instantly feels wide awake. They’d celebrated closing on the house with a little too much champagne, probably, and fallen asleep far later than he’s used to, but his brain is already tripping forward to the day ahead. The sun is falling across his bed because apparently they were too preoccupied to close the curtains — Patrick remembers tugging David onto the bed, pulling him down; he remembers David’s face, almost awed, looking down on him — making the whole room feel just on the far end of comfortably toasty, and there’s no way he can fall back asleep. 

They have a _house_. He rolls over so the sun is on his back instead of in his face and watches David sleep for a minute. 

David grunts and cracks his eyes open. 

“Morning, homeowner,” Patrick murmurs, brushing back his hair. David moans. 

“Why did you let me have so much champagne,” David mumbles into his pillow. Patrick smiles tiredly and keeps petting his hair. 

“Do you want to run to the house today?” 

“No.” 

“Okay, I’ll go then.” Patrick moves like he’s about to get up and without lifting up his head David grabs at him, his fingers clumsily brushing Patrick’s hip. 

“No,” David whines. Patrick’s never been able to sleep late after drinking, but David ends up tired and grumpy the entire morning, even if he gets up on his own. 

“Breakfast with your parents?” Patrick suggests, wriggling back down under the covers. His toes brush David’s ankles and David doesn’t even open his eyes. 

“You go.” 

“By myself?” 

“Bring me bacon,” David mumbles, rubbing his cheek on the pillow. He looks golden in the morning sun and Patrick can’t wait to see how beautiful he’ll look waking up in their house, with all those big windows to let in the light. 

“Okay, here’s what I’m going to do.” 

“Mhm.” David smiles and opens his eyes a little to look at him. 

“I’m going to run over to the house. You pick up breakfast and meet me there.” 

“Mmkay.” 

“The keys are on the counter.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“You have to get up, though.” 

“I am.” David closes his eyes again. 

“David.” 

“Mm.” 

“I will let you pick one stupidly expensive thing to put on our registry if you get up right now.” David cracks his eyes open. 

“ _How_ stupidly expensive.” 

“Three hundred dollars.” David scoffs. “Four hundred.” David smiles and settles in like he’s about to fall back asleep. “Fine. Five hundred.” 

“You’re so easy.” 

Patrick kisses him. “At least try to pick something practical.” 

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.” 

“Okay, I’m going.” 

“Wait, don’t run without me.” 

“Are you sure? This week it’s twenty-five minutes of straight running.” David groans. “Up to you.” 

“That’s like _five miles_.” 

“Less than three.” 

“Whatever. I’m not letting Alexis beat me.” 

“I didn’t realize it was a competition,” Patrick says, amused. David sits up and the sheets fall to his waist. 

“Well, it is, and I’m going to win.” 

“Okay. I don’t think I’m supposed to be endorsing this, but if it gets you up, I don’t care.” 

“Mm, my future husband.” David smiles into the kiss and pulls away before Patrick can deepen it. “Okay, but can we break it up into two runs? To the cafe, and then on our way back?” 

“The point is to be able to run three miles without stopping.” 

“I thought the point was to get me running.” 

“Fine; that too.” 

They compromise: they’ll run to the cafe, pick up breakfast, pack it into the backpack that Patrick will be carrying, and run to the house from there. Patrick doesn’t really see how this is a compromise, but David insists that it is, and when Patrick pushes, David starts describing luxury clothes that he could register for at Saks, a threat made more effective by the fact that Patrick has actually seen him bookmark pages of the website. He didn’t even know you could _buy_ cashmere shorts, or when you would wear them. 

They have A Time gently suggesting to Twyla how to arrange the food in the backpack until David says “Okay,” in a _you’re done_ tone and takes over. Patrick shrugs at her, _what can you do_. 

After triple-checking with David that he has the house key, they start to head over. It’s almost a full two miles away from the center of town, which they know because Mr. Rose has clocked it and informed them of this, on the same trip he took out to the house during which he frowned at all the old appliances and chips in the paint. 

The run makes the distance feel more real, somehow, maybe because it takes longer, makes you go more slowly. They’re forced to take in every change in pavement, every front lawn. _These are our neighbors_ , Patrick thinks. Every step takes them closer to the people who will help them shovel the sidewalks and bring casseroles if one of them gets sick. The food in his backpack bounces with every step and he imagines the eggs crumbling. David seems not to mind though; he doesn’t say much, which is odd. 

“How are we feeling?” Patrick asks, panting. 

“Fine,” David says, shooting him a quick smile. 

“Not dying?” 

“You know, I was doing better when I wasn’t thinking about it,” David says, and pauses. “Dying a little.” 

“Sorry.” 

They get to the house with another five minutes to go. Patrick pauses the app and shrugs when David looks at him. 

“We’ll finish after.” 

David brushes a palm over his shoulder and leads him up the steps to the front door. It was painted something like mauve or burgundy a long time ago; now it’s faded to a peeling reddish brown. The wood is warm from the morning sun. 

“Are we ready?” David asks, holding the key in front of the lock, checking with Patrick. Patrick smiles back. 

“Let’s go.” 

David unlocks the door but holds up a hand, palm-out, before they go inside. 

“I’m not carrying you over the threshold,” David warns. 

“Okay, David.” 

“Okay.” 

The house is quiet when they walk in. It feels bigger and emptier without Ray there chatting with them. They’re going to have to fill it with furniture — David’s got his eye on a few estate sales this weekend. Patrick’s looking forward to it. He loves how carefully David touches the things for sale as he considers its weight to its former owner, and its possible place in their lives. Every single thing in their house will be deliberately chosen. 

David leads them out to the back porch; he has to unlock the deadbolt on the door and yank to get it to open. Patrick grins as he steps outside and breathes in the fresh air. Unlike the apartment, there’s no lingering smell of car exhaust; unlike the motel, it doesn’t have the faint cigarette and BO stench that seems to have seeped into the walls. It just smells like _trees_. He closes his eyes to take another deep breath and opens them to see David looking at him with an amused smile. 

“Do you need a minute?” 

“It’s beautiful here,” Patrick says, and is surprised to feel his throat a little choked up. David’s smile turns fond and he rubs his back. 

“It really is. Shall we?” 

Patrick grins, drops the backpack from one shoulder, and reaches around to unzip it and pull out a blanket. David takes it from him and waves a hand. 

“You already proposed once this year,” David warns. “I refuse to cry today.” 

“Fine.” Patrick kisses him; David smiles against his mouth and his fingers play with Patrick’s t-shirt sleeve as he kisses back before Patrick pulls away. “Hey,” he says softly. David smiles and waits, still tangling his fingers in Patrick’s shirt. “Welcome home.” David drops his hands and throws his head back. 

“Okay. That was rude.” 

“What,” Patrick says, trying to hold back the pleased grin. 

“Foul play.” 

_Foul play,_ Patrick mouths, absolutely delighted. David holds up a hand and clears his throat. 

“Okay, that was -- no. Your fault! It was an accident. I am spreading the blanket now.” 

“Alright, Sports Fan. I’ve got the food.” Patrick pulls out takeout containers of eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes. “Uh oh.” 

“What?”

“I think we forgot the syrup.”

“ _What_?”

“Sorry, David.” 

“Ugh. Okay. It’s fine. Come sit.” David beckons from his cross-legged stance on the blanket and Patrick awkwardly sits down next to him. “Food, please.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

David shoots him an amused look and takes the eggs container. They’re the aluminum takeout containers with paper tops; Patrick’s seen David put the leftovers in them away, the way he carefully folds over the aluminum on opposite sides before pushing down the sides halfway between, and halfway between that, just to make sure that the paper top is centered before folding the edges down all the way, the same care he takes with everything. 

Patrick takes some bacon and sausage before trading with David for the eggs; he lets David take the pancakes he wants before taking one. 

“I can’t believe I’m here,” David says softly. Patrick makes an inquisitive noise, his mouth full of sausage. David waves a hand around them. “I’m sitting in my home with my fiancé. I just. Never thought I’d get this.” Patrick rubs his shoulder. 

They’ve had this talk before; he knows this, and he knows that David knows that Patrick had felt like he’d given up his chance for it. _One of the things they don’t tell you about coming out to yourself_ , Patrick thinks: the grief of letting go of the future you thought was yours. He knows that David felt a similar grief, when he’d thought it was never an option. 

“We’re going to be together,” David continues, placing his hand over Patrick’s on his arm. Patrick smiles and David smiles back, watery. “You’re always going to be around. I’m not — I won’t be alone. Here.” 

“Oh, was that the deal?” Patrick teases. David softly backhands his shoulder. “I promise, David.” He leans over to press a kiss to David’s shoulder. “And we’ve got plenty of guest rooms.” 

“Mmkay, but to be clear, I am claiming one for storage.” 

“And one for an office. I know.” 

“And an office for you. And a room for Stevie when you’re away at a seminar, and Alexis when she and Ted fight.” 

“And we get one too, right?” 

“God, those windows,” David says, tilting his head back. “What color curtains do you want? I was thinking white sheers and light grey curtains, but maybe we want to go with blackouts.” 

“I get a say?” 

“Of course,” David says, surprised. “Within reason,” he adds quickly. “No neon. Or pink. Or red. Or purple. Or yellow. Some green is okay. I guess red or yellow if they’re tasteful.” 

“That’s a lot to consider.” 

“Tell me if I’m being too much.” 

“Oh, I will.” He kisses David. “You are exactly the right amount. I love that you care so much.” 

“But you care, too.” 

“I do. And I think we do a good job of compromising.” David makes a disbelieving face. “I promise to tell you when I feel like I’m not being heard.” 

David nods and folds a piece of bacon and some pancake into his mouth. 

“Very elegant.” 

David mumbles something through his mouthful that Patrick doesn’t quite catch, but his eyes are twinkling. Patrick wants to trace the smile lines by his eyes. He wants to see them whenever they disappear. He contents himself with the thought that he’s got the rest of his life to bring them out. 

They have to pack up eventually to head back to the apartment, Patrick’s backpack considerably lighter now. They’ve only got five minutes of running left but two miles of walking, which is fine until the darkening sky makes good on its promise ahead of schedule and it starts raining down on them. David shouts. 

“It’s just rain, David!” It’s warm rain, too, which is always kind of fun to run in. David seems less enthused. 

“Call someone!” 

“What? Who?” 

“Stevie! My dad! Roland! Literally anybody with a car!” 

“Oh my god.” 

“Oh my _god_.” David takes Patrick’s phone from him but the drama loses effect when he immediately has to hold it out so that Patrick can enter his pin. He scrolls through Patrick’s list and calls Stevie. Patrick can hear her laughing over the sound of the rain before David hangs up on her. 

“Unbelievable,” David seethes, handing the phone back. Patrick unzips his backpack a little so he can slip the phone inside, hopefully deep enough under the blanket that it doesn’t get wet. He and David are lost causes, already drenched. David’s hair is plastered to his forehead and he glares as he marches forward. Patrick has to pick up his pace to keep up. 

There’s a stream of rainwater dripping from Patrick’s hair down past his nose. He sticks his tongue out to try to catch it. 

“This is ridiculous,” David shouts over the pattering of the summer storm. Patrick sticks his tongue out further, and the corners of David’s mouth flicker into an almost-smile. 

“Come on, David.” 

“I am an adult,” David says, as primly as one can while being one’s shorts are being pulled down by the weight of the water soaking them. David tugs them up. Patrick keeps walking. 

With a mile left to go, the rain has overwhelmed the sewer drains enough to start forming streams down the sides of the road. David seems resigned, plodding along only because there’s no other option. 

“I’m sorry, David.” 

“I don’t think you control the rain.” 

“I thought breakfast at the house would be nice. I didn’t realize —“ 

“No, hey. I know.” David stops and grasps Patrick’s shoulder. “It was a very nice morning.” Water drips from David’s dark hair into his eyes, and he blinks it away but doesn’t look away from Patrick, like he has to make sure that Patrick understands. He’s starting to get it. 

There are goosebumps along David’s arms. Patrick leans in for a hug, and they both make a face at how wet they are. “Okay, this is awful,” David says. Patrick squeezes him, and David squawks, before letting go. Patrick backs away, grinning, and David takes the bait, running after him — his old style of running, with his arms stretched out behind him. Patrick laughs. His shoes are absolutely disgusting, squishing with water with every step. Thunder rumbles overhead. 

He’s kicking water at David, who outright giggles, when Stevie’s car pulls up alongside them. She rolls down the window a crack. 

“You boys looking to get lucky?” 

David makes a face at her. 

“God, you guys are soaked.” 

“Yeah. I know.” 

“Can we get a lift?” Patrick asks, pushing his hair away from his face. It doesn’t do much to help. 

“I don’t know, you’re all wet.” 

“I hate you,” David says sincerely, his lip curling. 

“Just kidding. There are towels in the back.” 

“You’re amazing,” Patrick says as they get into the back seat. He makes sure to sit on the towel Stevie had laid out on the seat and eases the backpack off and onto the floor. 

“Can we turn up the heat, please?” David asks, wiping his face with a towel. Stevie obliges. 

“This is what you get for running, you know,” she says. “Exercise is unnatural.” 

“Oh, come on,” Patrick protests. 

“God herself created me to be perfectly suited to sitting on a comfortable couch with a book and a glass of wine.” 

“Thanks, that’s very encouraging,” David says sarcastically. 

“You’re welcome. So how’s the house? Is it leaking?” 

“It better not,” Patrick says darkly. He’s already going to have to bring Ronnie in to assess the projects they want done, like David’s closet and new countertops and a third bathroom. He doesn’t want to add more things to the pile. 

“Remember the first night we were here, when the motel plumbing dripped on my dad all night?” David asks Stevie, leaning forward. The windows are starting to fog up. There’s water dripping down the back of Patrick’s neck and he twists his shoulders to try to stop the tickle. 

“Mm, yes, how could I forget,” she says. 

“Brown sludge!” David growls in an approximation of Mr. Rose’s voice. Stevie cackles. 

“It would be like a full circle moment for you.” 

“Okay, but those are supposed to be good things.” 

“Are you sure?” 

David looks to Patrick. Patrick shrugs. It really would really suck if their new house had a leak, but the pleased/baffled expression on David’s face is one of his favorites. He looks like a different person, almost, with his hair slicked down. He must catch Patrick looking at it because he rubs at his hair with the towel, leaving it sticking up in places, leaving him looking more like himself. 

“Okay, I have to defog now,” Stevie warns them. David wraps the towel around his shoulders and Patrick braces himself for the loss of warmth, but then David tugs the towel off and rubs Patrick’s hair with it before dropping it in his lap. It’s almost soaked. 

“Thank you?” Patrick says. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“And here we are,” Stevie announces as she pulls into the apartment’s lot. 

“Thank you so much, Stevie,” Patrick says. 

“Yeah, get out, see you later, happy to help, goodbye.” 

“Key?” David asks. Patrick holds it up. David opens his car door and dashes for the vestibule. Patrick follows him, almost dropping the backpack as he hurries to catch up before David is standing in the rain longer than he has to be. 

#### Week Eight

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me all alone in this house the very first week we’re moved in,” David had complained when Patrick began packing for the seminar. “I don’t even know the neighbors yet. Where do I run if there’s an axe murderer?” 

“Hide under the bed? And it’s Artisan Month; I told you that,” Patrick said, trying to fit his shirts on top of the pants in his bag without creasing the collars. “This is the only time they’re giving me to present. You’re going to be fine, David. It’s just one night.” 

“Okay, but Stevie is staying with me,” David had said, reclining on the bed. “And I’m using your bat for self-defense.” Patrick just reminded him that the spare sheets were in a box marked SHEETS in the living room and reached for some socks. 

Patrick is regretting it now. He made it through his presentation with the scratchy throat he’d had since driving up early this morning, but now that it’s been a few hours and it’s not going away he’s starting to think he made a mistake driving out here. He’d told Jenny and Carl, two other business owners in the area who tend to come to the same seminars that he does, that he’d meet them for dinner in the hotel’s restolounge, but he’s meant to be there by now and his head feels like his brain is trying to push out his skull. He groans and checks his phone. David had been texting all day until Stevie got to the house, and there’s been nothing since. They’re probably drinking and watching one of those horrible Bravo shows, heckling the whole time. He’s glad they sorted out the cable. 

He’s shivering so he sits up to pull the coverlet over him and immediately regrets it; his head swims. 

“Fuck,” he says to his silent phone. He groans. He doesn’t want to be here in this hotel room with mysterious stains on the carpet and scratchy pilling on the sheets. He wants to be home. 

His phone rings. 

“‘Lo?” 

“Patrick?” 

“Hi, Jen.” 

“You coming for dinner? Or did you fall asleep?” 

“Sorry.” He clears his throat and winces. “Not feeling so hot.” 

“You don’t sound good. Hold on; Carl’s here.” The sound goes a little echoey as she puts it on speakerphone. 

“Patrick! My man! You coming? Brewskis are on me. Fucking fantastic speech, man.” 

“Thanks,” Patrick croaks. 

“ _Dude_.” 

“I know. I must have caught a bug or something.” 

“Are you okay?” Jenny asks over the muffled chatter around them. 

“Yeah, ‘m fine. I might skip dinner, though. Sorry, guys.” 

“No, definitely, sleep. We’ll have a drink next time.” 

“Sounds good.” He hangs up and drops the phone on the bed next to him, and wonders where the remote is. If he’s missing David, he might as well be watching the same junk he knows David is, at least. 

An hour later, he feels worse, not better, and has to turn off the TV. His entire body aches and his throat feels like there’s a razor blade stuck in it. He thinks about getting up for some water without actually doing it. All he wants is David’s hand on his forehead. His throat hurts _so much_. Before his sluggish brain can catch up, he dials David’s number. 

The line picks up to a weird sound, like metal skidding on wood. 

“Fuck,” David says in the distance. “Fuck. Hi,” he says into the phone. 

“David?” 

“Is everything okay? I thought I wouldn’t hear from you until later. Aren’t you supposed to be at dinner with Jenny and Carl? Are they being really boring?” 

“David, I don’t feel well.” He feels like he’s speaking really slowly, but he can’t push the words out any faster. 

“What?” 

“David, please, can you.” He swallows and his whole body cringes. “Can you come get me. Please.” 

“Oh my god.” He hears Stevie shouting “What's going on?” in the background. “He’s sick; he wants me to come get him,” David says, muffled. Patrick closes his eyes. “Okay. Okay, Patrick?” Patrick nods, and regrets it. “ _Patrick_.” 

“Mm?” 

“Fuck. Patrick, hon, I’m gonna come get you. Okay? Stevie and I are gonna come get you.” 

“No, don’t. ‘M fine.” 

“Okay, that just makes me think you are _not_ fine. What is it; are you throwing up?” 

“No,” Patrick says, pulling the coverlet over his head. “Just hurts.” 

“What hurts?” David asks gently. He hears a door slam and then a car door shuts and an engine turns over. “Patrick. Sweetheart. Tell me what hurts. Do I need to call an ambulance?” 

“‘s just a cold.” 

“I’ve seen you with just a cold. Patrick. Tell me what hurts.” 

“My throat.” He swallows and a hurt whine escapes. He taps the speakerphone button and drops the phone onto the bed in front of his face so he can rub his eyes with both hands. “Everything. David, ’m sorry, ’s fine; you don’t have to come. I’ll sleep it off, drive back tomorrow.” 

“No, stop. We’re on our way. An hour and a half.” He pauses and Stevie says something in the background. “An hour. I promise. Do you have water?” 

“No.” 

“Oh my god.” David is starting to sound irritated. “Patrick. Get some water.” 

Patrick groans and pushes himself up. There was a cup next to the bathroom sink, he remembers. It’s wrapped in plastic. Why do they do that? So much waste. So much _plastic_. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s saying this out loud until David says, “I know, hon. Too much plastic. Do you have water?” 

“Yeah.” He leans heavily on the sink and glances at his reflection. “I look like shit.” 

“You sound like shit. Drink your water.” 

Patrick sips and winces. 

“God, this sucks. D’you think it’s strep?” 

“I don’t know. Roland Junior has it, apparently, so probably. We’ll stop by an urgent care somewhere.” Stevie says something in the background. “I don’t know!” 

Patrick takes his cup back to bed and pulls the coverlet over his head again, listening to them bicker. David checks in with him now and again, but mostly he drifts. 

He’s a sea turtle buried in the sand, hiding from the waves beating on the shore. David is a crab, talking to him from outside his little tunnel, making him answer even though all he wants is some quiet. David-the-crab tethers him to the world outside the sand. He wants to crawl out, he wants to find him, but he can’t get anywhere. 

“Okay, Patrick?” There are two of David now. 

“David?” he mumbles. 

“Patrick, we’re here. Open the door.” It takes him a minute to unfurl his legs. Everything is _so sore_. He stumbles to the door and flips the deadlock. 

“Hey,” he says, blinking, leaning heavily on the door. He makes a face and touches his throat. 

“Oh my god,” David says, and throws himself into the room, hugging Patrick. He’s heavy and something’s on his clothes that smells weird, but his neck smells like— like him, like everything good, and safe. 

“Okay, David?” Stevie says from far away. “David, he’s probably contagious.” 

David lets go and pets Patrick’s hair. 

“Hey,” he says, “how are you feeling?” 

“Like crap,” Patrick mumbles. He sits on the bed and hunches over. 

“Okay, no,” Stevie says, grabbing his shoulder. Her hair falls in his face until she shakes it away. “No lying down. We’re going to go see a doctor.” 

“David?” 

“I’m here.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” David says gently. He’s not smiling. He’s very pale. Patrick wants to poke fun, to bring out the happy crinkles by his eyes, but he’s too tired. “In sickness and in health, remember?” 

“Not married yet.” 

“That just means that the next time I get sick you’re not allowed to be mean to me.” David sits next to him and Patrick leans his head on David’s shoulder and closes his eyes. 

“‘s that how it works?” 

“Mhm.” David pets his hair again. Stevie goes to pack his things, which really only consist of toiletries in the bathroom and his suit hanging up in the closet. “You’ll owe me one. I’ll be hanging this over your head for the rest of our lives.” 

“David.” 

“Hey, remember that time you got strep and made me drive two hours in the middle of the night to come get you?” 

“David.” 

“Mhm.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too. Now let’s go spend the night in a waiting room.” 

Patrick follows them down to the lobby, where he sits and waits with Stevie as David talks to the front desk and pays his bill. He almost doesn’t even notice Jenny walking by until she stops right in front of him. 

“Patrick?”

“Hi, Jenny.” 

“Are you alright?” She looks between his sweaty face and Stevie looming by his shoulder. 

“Yeah. M’husband came to get me.” He gestures toward David, who’s leaning with his elbows on the reception desk. He’s wearing what Patrick knows are his least favorite sweater (white, with red spots) and worst-fitting pants (white acid wash, accidentally low rise), although of course he looks wonderful. Jenny raises her eyebrows. 

“Hi, I’m Stevie, the chauffeur.” Stevie sticks her hand out and Jenny shakes it, looking amused. “They’re not actually married yet.” 

“Aw, that’s so sweet! I’m glad he came for you. _Mr. Rose Apothecary_.” Patrick nods, and regrets it when his brain sloshes. Stevie scratches his back with her blunt fingertips. “Tell me, Stevie, is he as wonderful as Patrick makes him sound? I’ve been dying to know.” Stevie snorts. “Although, you know, it does look like he’s as hot as you say,” Jenny muses, leering across the lobby at David. “I didn’t think it was possible.” Patrick tries to glare at her, but he suspects the effect is ruined when he has to blink heavily. God, he’s tired. 

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Stevie says. David’s waving his hands as he talks to the desk attendant, and if he’s arguing with her, Patrick needs to go help -- “Oh, no you don’t.” Stevie grabs his shoulders and forces him down into the chair. 

“But--” 

“Sit. You’re contagious.” 

“Poor Patrick,” Jenny coos. He’s starting to think he hates them both. “Feel better, okay? We’ll get drinks next time and torture Carl. Nice to meet you, Stevie.” Jenny winks at her and gives David a searching look as she heads toward the hotel bar. 

David finishes at the front desk and looks back at them, tilts his head toward the door. 

“Come on, Mr. Rose Apothecary,” Stevie says, hooking a hand on his elbow to follow David. 

In the parking lot there’s the question of whether Stevie is coming to the urgent care or not. David argues that he has Patrick’s car keys and can drive them home; Stevie argues back that she can wait with them. David does something complicated with his eyebrows which Stevie seems to understand but Patrick can’t pull the neurons together to focus; he just wants to sit down. She pats Patrick’s back and hands David his bag. 

“Feel better, Patrick. I’ll see you later. Call me if you need me to turn around, David. I mean it.” 

“Thank you,” David says softly. 

“And remember: he’s contagious. Don’t force me to take care of both of you. The whining alone…” She shakes her head. 

“Okay, byeee.” 

Patrick doesn’t know if he’s ever actually sat in the passenger seat of his own car. It’s pushed back to make room for David’s legs, like it has been for two years now. He doesn’t move it up. 

David drives them to the urgent care office down the street, chattering about how he’d found it on google and it seemed legit with decent reviews but you never really know, do you? Patrick closes his eyes until they’re there. 

Luckily the waiting area is pretty empty. 

“I guess most people wait until later in the night to have their emergencies,” David quips. “You could call us unfashionably early but I’d prefer to think of it as ahead of the curve.” Patrick wants to hold his hand, but remembers not to touch him. He doesn’t want David to get sick. 

They sit in hard plastic seats with a full view of the waiting room. David sits perched on his, back straight, tense; Patrick slumps and tilts his head back to rest on the wall behind them. David crosses his legs and rubs Patrick’s thigh, and Patrick realizes that he’s still wearing the pajamas he’d put on earlier. They’re blue and striped and his favorite pair — all his other pajama pants are still packed in a box somewhere. He’s going to have to dig them out because he can’t wear these again until they’re washed, and fuck, the washing machine — 

“How are you feeling?” David asks, looking around, his eyes skittering like there’s nothing he can look at for too long. 

“Tired. Hurts.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I feel stupid.” 

“You’re not stupid.” 

“It’s probably just a cold.” 

David turns and places a hand on Patrick’s forehead. Patrick closes his eyes and feels everything relax. “You have a fever. It’s not just a cold.” 

For some reason, Patrick wants to cry. Luckily, the nurse comes out and calls his name. David follows closely behind him, not touching but hovering. 

He watches intently as the doctor examines Patrick, shining a light in his mouth and then taking a throat culture. 

“You have a fever of 101.3,” the doctor announces, his voice baritone and serious. Patrick imagines him voicing Mufasa. He’d be good at it, if James Earl Jones ever retires. “No other cold symptoms but the sore throat… you’ve got the spots, too. Let’s see if the rapid test found anything.... Yessir. Strep.” 

“Okay, what do we do?” David asks. He looks like he’s on the edge of his seat. Patrick shifts, and the paper sheet rustles under him. 

“I’ll prescribe some antibiotics, and you can take some ibuprofen in the meantime for the fever. Have some popsicles for your throat. If your fever doesn’t come down by morning, see your primary doctor. If it gets worse, then you’ll want to bring him to an ER.” 

David nods, face white. 

“I’ll be fine, David,” Patrick says scratchily. 

“He was a little out of it earlier,” David tells the doctor. “Is that normal?” 

“With a high fever, it can happen. You seem lucid to me,” the doctor says, looking in each of Patrick’s eyes. 

“He slept a little, I think.” 

“You were a crab,” Patrick murmurs. He smiles tiredly. “I was dreaming that I was a turtle and you were a crab.” 

“Was I a pretty crab, at least?” 

“I don’t know. I couldn’t get to you.” 

David’s face turns fond and concerned, his eyebrows pulling up in the middle. 

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much now,” the doctor interrupts, “but like I said, if your fever doesn’t break or gets worse, see a doctor. Popsicles, fluids, antibiotics, rest. Take _all_ the antibiotics, even if you feel better.” 

“Okay,” David says. “We’ll do that. Thank you.” 

“Have a good night, gentlemen. Hope you feel better, Patrick.” 

“Thanks.” He gracelessly gets down from the examining chair and follows David out the door. 

The ride home is quiet, like David wants him to sleep, and he does, dreaming in flashes of his parents’ house and their house and David and Alexis and Stevie. David gently shakes him awake an hour and a half later, and it takes him a second to recognize the house. The light in the foyer is on. 

“Hey,” David says softly. “We’re home.” Patrick smiles and slowly unfurls. 

David herds him straight upstairs into bed with a pit stop at the kitchen for a glass of water and Patrick catches a glimpse of something strangely shaped in one of the guest rooms. 

“I’ll pick up your antibiotics when the pharmacy opens,” David chatters, flitting around the room as he puts things away and gets ready for bed. “And hunt down some popsicles. Should we stock them in the store, do you think? Move over, make room.” 

“David, don’t get sick,” Patrick says, his body so heavy he feels like he’s going to sink through the mattress. He moves slowly. 

“Just stay on your side,” David says, climbing into bed next to him. 

“We have to hook up the washing machine,” Patrick mumbles. 

“What? Oh, fuck, I have to text your mom back.” David turns over to pull his phone off the side table and types out a quick text. 

“You texted my mom?” Patrick watches him put the phone back. David lays down again, facing him. 

“Of course. I thought you were dying.” 

“David.” 

“Well, I don’t know!” 

“Thank you,” Patrick says, brushing a thumb across David’s cheekbone. David’s eyelashes flutter. 

“So how did your presentation go? You got to present before you contracted this… plague, right?” 

“I did,” Patrick says with a tired laugh. “It went well. I think.” 

“Of course it did,” David says with a fond smile. 

Patrick swallows and winces instinctively. The advil is helping a little. David feels his forehead again, looking concerned. 

“It doesn’t hurt as much,” Patrick says, but he leans into David’s hand. David cups his face and smiles sadly. 

“I’m sorry it hurts. I’m sorry your big day was ruined.” 

“I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” 

“Were you drinking?”

“No,” David says with a soft laugh. “We were painting.”

“Painting?”

“The room you wanted for your office. I got the paint from the sample you picked out. It was supposed to be a surprise.” 

“David.” Patrick wants to cry again. 

“Stevie was going to come back and finish.” That’s what he’d seen: paint cans, trays, rollers, tarps. “I almost kicked a tray over by accident when you called.” 

“It’s okay. We’ll just carpet over it.” 

“Patrick. Go to sleep,” David says, then mutters, “We’re not putting in _carpet_.” 

“I can put whatever I want in my office.” 

“You’re sick; you don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“David --” Patrick laughs. 

“Sh sh sh. Sleep now.” 

#### Week Nine +

“Patrick!” David hollers from somewhere upstairs. 

“Yeah?” he shouts back, not looking up from his laptop. He’s trying to decide whether it’s worth it to try to stock David’s new popsicle idea — they’d have to buy a freezer, but it could be a big draw in the summer, especially if they stock ice cream too. He stares at the spreadsheet and his eyes swim. 

“Spider!” The sound of David’s footsteps rumbles down the stairs ahead of him. “Big _fucking_ spider.” 

“It’s probably just eating the other bugs, David. Let it be.” 

“Okay, that was _not_ part of the deal.” David’s lip curls, his hand on his hip, and Patrick leans back in his chair. 

“It’s an old house, David, and it’s been empty for a while. There were probably a few bugs living here when we moved in.” 

“Well, it’s time for them to be evicted.” 

Patrick gets up with a sigh. 

“Where is it?” 

“Okay,” David says, putting his hands out like _don’t be mad_ , “I didn’t have a cup, but I sprayed this old bug spray I found in your baseball bag across the doorway so it should still be in the room.” 

“I’m sure that was very effective. So what do you want me to do?” David flaps his hands in a way that reminds Patrick very strongly of Alexis. “David, just bring a cup upstairs with you. If you see it again, trap it.” 

“We sleep up there, though.” 

“Oh my god, David.” David huffs and bangs open a cabinet for a glass before whirling around and heading back upstairs. 

“Two hours!” David calls over his shoulder. “Two hours in the middle of the night! Both ways!” 

Patrick shakes his head. They can probably afford the freezer. He’ll want to convince David to hold some kind of event to promote it. Maybe he’ll go for another open mic night. He scrolls through the laptop’s itunes, thinking, _maybe Mariah, maybe Whitney…_

When Alexis had called after Patrick had gotten sick, David had taken his phone outside on the back deck and shut the door. Patrick could see him through the windows from where he was sitting on the couch wrapped up in a blanket, how tightly David was holding himself, how he’d told her what had happened slightly hysterically, how he’d gotten his breathing under control as she talked to him. Patrick stopped watching. It wasn’t for him to see. 

He’s been itching to get out running again, though. They’d gotten _so close_ to finishing the program but David’s refused to let him run until his antibiotics are totally finished, and even refuses to let him come on the walks David’s been taking sometimes during lunch. If only he could never get sick ever again, just so he never has to _rest_ so much. He hears a thump of a box dropping to the floor upstairs. 

Patrick sighs and switches to the window where he has furniture websites open to office furniture pages, then to the incognito window where he has one of David’s consignment sites open. He wants to get David _something_ for a wedding gift, but nothing seems quite right. A solid marriage isn’t built on cashmere shorts, or leather high-tops, or black fuzzy-feathery sweaters, but then, he wonders, what exactly _is_ it built on that he can buy? 

Fuck it; he’s going for a run. 

“Hey David?” he calls, heading upstairs. 

“Yeah?” 

Patrick follows his voice to one of the spare rooms on the second floor, not yet claimed for anything but temporary storage for David’s clothes. Patrick’s already settled on his (newly painted) office on the third floor, and David keeps changing his mind about his own space. 

“I’m dying to -- oh.” It looks like David has opened every single box of clothes without actually having anywhere to put anything. There are clothes everywhere, only not on the floor but draped on boxes and rolling garment racks and what looks like a drying rack. David’s sitting in the middle of it all, cross-legged on the floor. “What’s this?” 

“If you must know,” David says, then seems to need a second to come up with what to say next. “I am organizing.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“I have to have some kind of system until Ronnie does my closet. I just -- don’t know where to put. Everything.” David looks around himself and holds his hands up, then drops them. 

“No kidding.” 

“Funny. What were you saying?” David pulls a sweater into his lap and starts folding it. 

“Um. A run?” 

“Did you finish your antibiotics?” 

“Took the last ones this morning.” David looks uncertain. “Please, David. I feel like my legs are about to fall off.” 

“We wouldn’t want that.” 

“So, yes?” 

“Okay, fine. But we’re going slow.” 

“Yes.” 

“ _Slow_.” 

“... yes.” 

Patrick hadn’t thought that going ten days without running would knock him off base by too much, but he has a hard time getting into the rhythm. He feels overly conscious of his breathing, his arm swing, his steps, and the fact that none of it seems to be in sync.

“Just go slower,” David says breathily, keeping pace with him. “However fast you go. Slower is better.” 

“How does this suck so much?” 

“I’m not going to answer that.” 

Patrick groans. Their route from the house is mostly to the town square and back; sometimes they’ll stop at the cafe for some water, or peek in at the store just because they’re there. It’s not quite as nice as the old route from the apartment where they could go down the trail for half of it, but the streets are mostly quiet and their neighbors are friendly. David breathes heavily at his side. Patrick feels a cramp coming on and tries to adjust his breathing to counter it. He’s not going to let this run beat him. 

“Alexis says we should send out Save The Dates,” David pants. 

“Probably, yeah.” 

“Angeline does nice stationery.” 

“Is that your pick?” 

“Is that okay? I was thinking grey and white and navy.” 

“Yeah, sounds good.” Patrick swallows. His mouth is dry. 

“You okay?” 

“Uh huh.” 

David gives him a look and slows his pace. Patrick slows to match him. They go another block, then David asks, “Better?” 

“A bit.” Patrick shoots him a smile. 

“I talked to your parents and they said the second weekend in June was good for them, and I figure they’re the ones we should plan around,” David says. “Considering everyone else we know is just here all the time anyway.” 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” David hums. “David. Thank you.” 

A car comes and Patrick moves behind David so they’re single-file until it passes. Over the past few weeks David’s calves have gotten _really_ muscled, he notices. His eyes trace up David’s legs and everything running-related flies out of his head until David slows to let him catch up so they’re side-by-side again. 

David’s still wearing Patrick’s old exercise gear, although occasionally one of his new purchases makes an appearance. Today it’s a pair of Patrick’s old lounge shorts and an old t-shirt he’d gotten for volunteering at a food bank. When David’s closet is set up, they’re going to have to divvy up their exercise drawer, he realizes, and then it hits him. 

He makes it through the run, but just barely; when they get back to the house, he’s so light-headed he has to sit on the front steps for a minute. David gets him a glass of water and then sits with him and rubs his back, occasionally stealing sips of water. 

“So that could have gone better,” he says. 

“I think you did fine,” David says, squinting down the road. “I’m amazed, frankly, that I did so well. Can you imagine? Me, running?” 

“I can. I’ve seen it.” 

David shakes his head. “The things you’ve done for me,” he murmurs, and cups Patrick’s face to pull him in for a kiss. Patrick doesn’t even have the _words_. 

“It’s really the other way around,” he manages, and kisses him again. David sits with him for another minute, until Mrs. Kotsakis from down the street pulls up in her station wagon, waving enthusiastically. Patrick waves back and David plucks self-consciously at his sweaty shirt. 

“Time to shower,” David announces. “I think I’ll try our new washing machine today.” 

“Yeah? Want help?” 

“I can figure it out.” David uses Patrick’s shoulder for leverage as he stands. “But just in case, don’t leave the house.” 

Patrick nods and presses down on a smile. He watches Mrs. Kotsakis herd her children into their house, all of them carrying improbably big backpacks, and then gets up and heads inside. He wants to start googling before David gets out of the shower. 

They spend the rest of the day with Ronnie at the house, going over plans for David’s closet and their en suite. Patrick looks over the preliminary plans Ronnie’s brought with her, and they go around the spare room next to their bedroom. He’s not really sure what, exactly, she’s doing as she walks around the room, but it seems to be important and he knows better now than to second-guess her. 

“So you think you can do it?” he asks, rubbing his chin, when she finally stops. 

“Uhhh huh.” 

“Yes?” 

“Uhhh huh.” 

David knocks on the doorframe and they both turn to look at him. 

“Hi.” He’s holding a large piece of what looks like baking parchment. 

“What’s that?” Ronnie asks, with a nod of her head. 

“I had some ideas.” He unrolls the curling paper and holds it out for Ronnie to look at. Patrick peers over her shoulder until she gives him a look. He takes a step back and moves to behind David’s shoulder. 

“Huh,” she says. 

“Do you think you can do it?” David asks. Ronnie’s original plan had just had standard shelves and racks around the room, but David’s… arranged them, to specific varying sizes, with careful notes as to what goes where: summer knits, winter knits, a built-in cedar chest, socks, underwear, ties, jackets, pants, shirts…. The original room’s on a corner, and two of the three windows will be in the bathroom, but under the third David’s sketched a window seat. He’s drawn sunbeams coming in. Patrick holds David’s shoulder, feels the curve of it under his sweater, this man tall and solid who’s put such careful detail into this quotidian aspect of their life together. 

“Yeah, I think I can do it,” Ronnie says. David’s mouth bursts into a quick smile before he reins it in. “What color paint?” 

“White,” David says firmly. “I’ll send you the name of the shade. The same floors we already picked, the wide one I liked.” 

“And you’re still happy with the bathroom tile?” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright. I’ll need to take this.” She tugs the paper out of David’s hands and rolls it up carefully. “I’ll copy it and give it back. Sound good?” 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

“Thanks, Ronnie,” Patrick says. She nods at David and leaves, which is pretty par for the course. “I didn’t know you did that.” David shrugs his shoulders, his mouth pulled self-consciously to the side. “It looks amazing. Are you sure you don’t want to do the rest of the house?” David lets a corner of his mouth peek into a smile. 

“I don’t know if you can afford me.” 

“Oh, really,” Patrick says, grinning, touching his nose to David’s. David shakes his head, brushing their noses together. 

“My prices are very steep.” Patrick’s fingers play at the sleeves of David’s sweater until David grasps his wrists. 

“How much for the kitchen?” Patrick murmurs. 

“Mm. How do you feel about concrete counters?” 

“What, really?” Patrick asks, rearing back. He wrinkles his nose and David’s definitely holding back a laugh but that doesn’t mean _no_. 

“They’re very in.” 

“David.”

“Just ask Alexis,” David says, pulling away. Patrick follows him down the stairs. 

“Really, though? David.” 

“Thank god Ronnie pulled up that heinous carpet.” 

“Yes, but, the counters --” 

David pulls one box out of the pile they still have to go through. How did the two of them accumulate so much _stuff_? Patrick wonders. David groans as he lifts one of the boxes onto the table and Patrick tries to remember what exactly he’d packed that was so heavy. David yanks open the flaps and pulls out -- samples. 

“Oh,” Patrick breathes. 

“I had Ronnie send us some a while ago. Which do you like?” David asks, arranging nine samples of countertop. They’re all grey, white, black, or blue. 

“Is that one --” Patrick points to a white one marbled with black. David smiles and picks it up. 

“I liked that one too.” 

“Is it ‘in’, though?” 

David rolls his eyes. 

“We wouldn’t want to be the only ones on the block without _concrete_ _counters_.” 

“I’ll tell her we like this one when she comes by tomorrow.” 

“Okay.” Patrick kisses his jaw and David drapes an arm over his shoulder. “So that just leaves the room upstairs?” 

“I think so.” 

“Hey,” Patrick says seriously. David looks at him, patient and ready. “Thank you.” David shakes his head. 

“For what?” 

“For being you. I can’t imagine wanting to do this with anyone else.” David’s mouth tilts into a smile. “I guess it’s still hitting me that you said yes.” David nods and looks down to his hand, flexes it so the rings glint; Patrick traces them with his fingers, feeling David’s hand, soft and dry. “I’m so happy that I get to spend my life with you.” David looks at him, eyes shining, and Patrick smiles back, a little wobbly. “Thank you,” he says softly. 

“I love you,” David murmurs. Patrick leans in and kisses him hard; he trails kisses along his jaw, in for a hug. David holds him tight, the countertop sample David’s still holding digging into his back a little, and Patrick blinks away the tears as he looks over David’s shoulder at their backyard. _Their backyard_ is starting to get tall with grass. He’ll have to find someone to mow it before the wedding. He tightens his fingers on David’s back, and pictures them standing like this under a chuppah down by the treeline; he presses his smile into David’s shoulder. 

When they go to dinner with David’s parents and Stevie, Patrick and Stevie try, but even together they don’t make up for the conversational space Alexis has left. For one thing, they don’t get half the things the Roses reference; for another, they have actual rational responses to things. They used to, at least, Patrick thinks, watching Stevie and David get into a bickering match over whether even Idris Elba could sell a Bond movie set in Schitt’s Creek. Moira inserts her own commentary, and Johnny tries his best to understand what exactly they’re talking about. Patrick lost track of how they got here, but he thinks the conversation was originally wedding-related. 

“Who would even be your villain?” David asks loudly, gesticulating with his fork. Patrick takes a bite of his pasta and waits for Stevie’s response. 

“Roland. Duh.” 

“She’s got a point,” Patrick says with a shrug. 

“No. No, Roland is the comic relief,” David argues. “You have to find someone else.” 

“That’s rude.” 

“Fine. Twyla, who would _you_ cast as a Bond villain against Idris Elba?” 

“Who?” she asks, smiling at everyone. 

“Oh my god,” David mutters. 

“He’s an actor,” Patrick tells her. “A good-looking one.” 

“Patrick, don’t be shallow. Don’t reduce Idris to his stunningly good looks,” Stevie says. David shakes his head disappointedly at Patrick. 

“Okay,” Patrick says under his breath. He goes back to his pasta. David’s frown turns into a pleased smile and he steals a noodle from Patrick’s plate. 

“So Patrick, I hear you’re putting in a freezer at the store?” Mr. Rose asks, clearly hoping to steer the conversation in a more familiar direction. 

“Yeah, we’re thinking popsicles and ice cream could be a big draw, especially in the summer.” 

“What about the electric costs? And maintenance, you know, at the bigger Rose Video stores we had ice cream chests and they always seemed to break down on the hottest days. And the personal injury ‘suits --” 

“Okay, well, we’re getting one,” David interjects, mouth tilting annoyed. “It’s _unacceptable_ that when we _desperately_ needed popsicles there were none sold in town. I had to go all the way to _Elmdale_.” 

“I was just saying, son.” 

“Okay.” 

“Thanks for the advice, Mr. Rose,” Patrick says as diplomatically as he can. _Suck up_ , David mouths. Patrick pretends not to see but moves his plate further from David’s reach. 

Patrick ends up helping with the laundry a few days later, and sits on the floor of their bedroom sorting whites and darks while David pulls out the hand-wash- and dry-clean-onlys. 

“Okay, I talked to Alexis,” David blurts, holding up one of his sweaters. Patrick feels his face grow warm. _She wouldn’t have…_ “She told me what you were planning.” Patrick sighs, dropping the sock he’s holding onto the whites pile so he can rub his forehead. 

“She wasn’t supposed to tell you.” 

“Yeah, I figured.” 

“I made her promise on her Best Person duties. So.” He chances a look at David’s face. David’s wearing the same expression he had when Patrick had been singing to him, back in the beginning, back when Patrick hadn’t yet realized just how _much_ they had. 

“I love that you wanted to do that for me.” David reaches for his hands, and squeezes them. A late summer breeze, tinged with the coolness of fall, comes through the open windows and barely ruffles David’s styled hair. Patrick pulls David’s left hand in and kisses the back; David smiles. “I don’t need to go to the Galapagos to visit her. It’s so expensive—” Patrick raises his eyebrows and David rolls his eyes. “And I’ve, um. Already bought something?” 

“You did?” 

“For you. Us.” David tilts his head. “You.” 

“David—“ 

“Remember how you said I could add something to our registry?” 

“...yes,” Patrick says slowly. He pulls an old running shirt from the laundry basket and wrinkles his nose at the smell. David makes a face. 

“Okay, so I could have picked a more romantic time to do this, but whatever. I decided to just buy it instead, because I know you’ll want to use it now and not have to wait until after the wedding.” 

“David, what—“ 

“It’s a lawn mower.” Patrick can hear a truck backing up in their driveway outside through the open windows and his jaw drops. “I got you a lawn mower. Bob’s coming to deliver it now.” Patrick stares at him for a second and David wriggles his shoulders, continues, “I just thought — Okay, now that I’ve said it out loud, it sounds stupid, like I’m expecting you to — you don’t have to use it. It’s just, you said you wanted to.” 

Patrick gets up and looks out the window: Bob is unloading a riding mower from the back of a trailer into their driveway. 

“David,” he says wonderingly. 

“I’m sorry; it’s stupid —“ Patrick cuts him off with a kiss, holding his face. 

“I love you.” 

David smiles. “I saw it at his garage one day and he’s been fixing it up. It was supposed to be done weeks ago, but I guess there was a part he couldn’t find, or something. I don’t know. I’ve been bugging him at lunch practically every other day and he finally got it in.” 

Patrick pulls him into a hug, burying his face in David’s shoulder. 

“We’ll pick somewhere good for our honeymoon,” David says, rubbing his back. 

“Mhm.” Patrick breathes him in. 

“Maybe somewhere my sister isn’t.” 

“That’s fair.” 

“I love that you even thought about it, though. Do you really want to sit next to me on a plane for fourteen hours?” Patrick pulls away and wipes at his eyes. 

“You’re right; I didn’t think it through.” David grins. “Two hours, maximum,” Patrick teases. 

“Really.” 

“Any time,” he says softly, and pulls David in for another kiss. David smiles against his mouth and they hear Bob shouting for them. “Time to break in the new pony.” 

“ _No_.” 

“Take this mustang for a spin.” 

“I regret this already.” 

Patrick goes to head downstairs and David shouts “The laundry?” behind him. 

“Later!” He hops down the stairs and after a minute he hears David following him. 

“I put it all back in the basket; we’ll have to do it again tomorrow,” David says, frowning. Patrick holds the door open for him as they step outside. 

“Afternoon, boys,” Bob says, holding up a hand to shade his eyes from the setting sun. “Where do you want this thing parked?” It’s red and black and kind of rusty, to be honest, but he trusts David, even if he doesn’t necessarily trust Bob. 

“On the grass?” David says, like it’s obvious. Patrick smiles to himself. 

“In the back would be great. Thanks, Bob.” 

“Yes, thank you, Bob. Patrick, do you maybe want to change into something more grass-stain-friendly? Maybe long pants you can tuck into your socks so that we don’t get ticks everywhere?” 

Patrick’s not sure where this is coming from — he’s been careful to avoid bug talk — but on a suspicion he looks to Bob, who shrugs. Bob’s baggy jeans are indeed tucked into his dirty white crew socks. 

“Maybe staying tick-free can be your gift to me,” David continues, holding gingerly onto a handle of the mower, as if Patrick’s about to hop on and take off. Patrick, knowing better than to argue, smiles and nods. 

They watch Bob drive the thing around the house out to the backyard, where he kills the motor and climbs off. 

“Thanks again,” he tells Bob, holding out his hand. Bob shakes it, nods at them, and leaves, which had been Patrick’s objective. _Business school: more than just spreadsheets_ , he thinks to himself. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You’ve got that ‘I think I’m funny’ face.” 

“Tell you later. I’ll go change.” He kisses David’s cheek and goes to head back inside for some sweatpants and tall socks but David grabs his hand and tugs him back. 

“Hey,” David says, pulling a half-smile. “Welcome home.” Patrick stops breathing for a second. 

“Foul play,” he manages. David’s eyes crinkle knowingly at him and he has to kiss him again, the absolute asshole, the love of his life. 

When he comes back out, dressed acceptably and bug-sprayed, David’s reclining on the rocking bench with two glasses of lemonade on the table next to him, wearing his white sunglasses, looking like some kind of fantasy Patrick dreamed up. 

Patrick climbs on the mower. “Ready?” he shouts. David raises a glass and his rings glint in the evening light. Patrick straightens his baseball cap and starts the mower. 

#### Week 52

Patrick wakes early, the eager heat of June already warming their bedroom despite the sheers pulled closed over the windows, fluttering in the breeze. David is crashed out in the bed next to him, dead to the world, his mouth open just next to Patrick’s bare shoulder. Patrick grins and carefully shifts himself out of bed. David doesn’t move. 

He pulls on a shirt and makes his way downstairs and he keeps beaming at random things, like their coffee maker as it starts gurgling, the save-the-date pinned to the fridge with a magnet as he reaches for some half-n-half, the sewing kit someone left strewn on their kitchen table, the CDs piled on the stereo. He thinks he remembers playing Queen at some point, trying to get David to sing with him. 

The house is quiet, now, everyone gone home. He takes his coffee and heads out onto the back deck, the wooden boards sun-warmed under his bare feet. Most of the mess is cleaned up from the yard; he wonders who did that, and makes a mental note to ask Alexis so he can thank them. The chairs are still set up — he’ll have to call the rental place to have them picked up — and the chuppah Ronnie made frames the spot where yesterday David became his husband -- _husband_ \-- and it probably will stay there for a very long time. 

The door squeaks open behind him and his smile turns giddy. 

“Good morning.” 

“Morning,” David mumbles, and sinks onto the bench next to him. David steals his coffee and takes a sip before handing it back. Patrick settles an arm across the back of the bench and rubs David’s shoulder, the open weave of David’s sweater soft under his fingers. David leans into his side and squints out across the yard. Patrick has mowed the lawn twice in the last week, to make sure that it was perfect for the wedding. It was. It still smells like cut grass, and a little bit like stale beer where someone must have spilled some by the steps. “I think that went well,” David says. 

“We survived.” 

“Mm. So did everyone else, which is surprising.” 

Patrick presses a kiss to the back of his hand. David looks at him and smiles tiredly. His eyes are ringed with purple; he should have slept longer. Patrick is selfish, though, and his husband — _husband_ — is beautiful, and warm. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” David asks, rubbing Patrick’s bare knee. “We have to have something with protein and carbs in it, unfortunately not for a sexy reason.” 

“I think there are eggs in the fridge.” 

“Okay.” 

They sit for a minute, watching the sun warm the mist rising from the cool dewy grass, enfogging the chairs still facing the chuppah. 

“You know, I’m not even nervous?” David says. 

“We’ve done it before.” Patrick tips his face up to the sun. God, it feels good. He doesn’t really want to move, to be honest. He breathes in the grass and trees, and David. “Hey.” David smiles at him. “I love you.” David leans in for a soft kiss. 

“I love you,” David whispers. Patrick feels like he could fly, or solve world hunger. 

“Thank you.” David smiles and kisses him again. “I’ll make breakfast. Do you want some coffee?” 

“I want a nap,” David says, getting to his feet slowly. 

“Okay.” Patrick follows David inside and as David flops down on the couch Patrick heads to the fridge to dig out some vegetables and cheese for omelets. David grunts and pulls a white high heel shoe from couch cushions underneath him. He holds it up with two fingers and narrows his eyes at it. “Twyla?” Patrick guesses. 

“Mom,” David says, disgusted. He sets it down on the floor and gingerly lays back down. “Wake me when the food is ready.” 

“Yes, sir.” Patrick pours himself another cup of coffee and starts chopping vegetables at the island, orienting himself to David’s dark hair peeking over the arm of the couch. He drops some slices of bread into their new toaster -- they’d only gotten the one, thank god. Somehow they’ve ended up with _three_ blenders. 

When the eggs are cooking, the phone rings — David had argued against a landline; Patrick likes having one, especially like now when he’s left his cell phone god knows where — and he grabs it from the holder, pins it to his ear with his shoulder. David whines. 

“Yep,” Patrick says, focusing on flipping David’s omelet. 

“Just wanted to make sure you’re both still alive,” Stevie says. 

“We didn’t drink that much,” he protests. David tosses a throw pillow in his direction; it falls short of its target by several feet. 

“Alexis has been terrorizing the good townspeople for an hour already. I can’t believe you agreed to do this _today_.” 

“We wanted to do it before we left. I don’t know; I didn’t argue with Alexis.” 

“Yeah, running a 5k the day after your wedding is still insane.” 

“Thanks, Stevie. Glad to have your support.” 

“Is David even awake?” Patrick tries to peer over the couch. 

“Not sure. He was.” 

“Tell Stevie to go away,” David says, muffled. 

“He says hi.” 

“I hate you.” David sounds like his face is mashed into the couch cushion. 

“Okay, well, good luck,” Stevie says. “I’ll be waiting at the finish line, eating all the popsicles.” 

“Great, thanks.” He drops the phone back in the holder and shifts the omelet onto a plate. “David? Food’s ready.” 

David sits up, his hair fanning upward like a peacock’s tail. 

“Coffee?” David asks hopefully. 

“It’s there.” 

“Mm, thank you.” David cracks a huge yawn. 

“Toast, eggs, coffee. Anything else?” 

“Just my husband.” Patrick feels his face brighten, and flushes. David grins at him, dimpling, and waits for Patrick to sit before he starts eating, which Patrick appreciates for the show of sentimentality that it is. 

After inhaling most of his omelet, David crunches a triangle of toast and says, “Thanks for getting us to do this. You were right.” Patrick raises his eyebrows. “Leaving right after the ceremony would’ve been weird.” David’s phone rings somewhere nearby and David throws his head back. “On the other hand.” 

“We’ll see them all today,” Patrick reminds him. “And then we’re only gone for two weeks.” 

“Yeah, tell that to my parents.” David hauls himself out of his chair and follows the sound of his phone to the couch; he plunges a hand in between the cushions and rolls his eyes at Patrick before answering. “Dad, I already sent you our itinerary twice _and_ I pinned a printout behind the desk where any stalker can read it.” 

Patrick gets up to clear his plate, leaving David’s where it is. David’s mostly finished, but he’s learned not to clear up after him until he gets the go-ahead. No one wants a repeat of the Chili Incident. He catches sight of the time on the microwave -- they’ve got about half an hour before they have to leave. 

“A plane, I don’t know! It’s a plane,” David is saying. He bends backward in frustration. “A thing made of tin that flies.” Patrick waves at him to get his attention and taps his wrist. David nods at Patrick and says into the phone, “Well, it’s not going to crash.” Patrick heads upstairs to change and brush his teeth. “Because of science! Why are you asking me this?” 

That’s his _father-in-law_ , worrying at his _husband_. Patrick grins. Things are pretty fucking good. 

Although they didn’t run as much as Patrick would have wanted over the winter, just the fact that they got out to run a few times feels like a decent victory, and they’d started building up their mileage in March, which means that by now, June, they’ve already done a few practice three-milers, and one four-miler, mostly by accident, which is to say that Patrick should not feel this nervous as they approach the starting line. He’s not quite as nervous as he was during the walk up to the figurative altar, but getting close. 

David ghosts a hand over Patrick’s shoulder, encouraging him forward toward Alexis, who’s haranguing her assistant Luz at the check-in table. 

“Welcome, Misters Roses!” Alexis says, forcefully cheerful. “Luz, will you please check them in while I hunt down Ted?” 

“Of course.” Luz gives them a bright smile and holds her clipboard and pen in position. “Names, please?” 

“Um. David Rose and Patrick Brewer,” David says. “You were at the wedding _yesterday_.” 

“Don’t start,” Luz says, giving him a sharp look. “I’ve already gone through this with your sister. Thanks for checking in, boys. Grab a bib, pin it to your shirt, _don’t_ bend it or you’ll ruin the tracking strip. I’ve already had to hand out three replacement bibs and we haven’t even lined up yet. It’s _not that hard_.” 

Patrick takes the bibs from her and David scoops some safety pins from the cup. 

“How long have you been out here?” Patrick asks warily. 

“Too long. Good luck, have fun, et cetera. If you feel like you’re dying, find some shade and sit down and someone will come get you.” 

“Thanks,” David says with a grimace, exchanging one pin for another in the cup. 

“David.” 

“What?” 

“It’s going to be fine.” 

David gives him a suspicious glance. Patrick tries to look as innocent as possible. Luckily Alexis buzzes by, talking very fast into her headset, pausing only to shout “Five minutes!” at the top of her voice. “Runners need to line up!” She shoos at them with a flapping hand and Patrick herds a grimacing David to the starting line to stand by Ted. 

“Congrats, guys,” Ted says cheerfully. “Sorry about last night; there was a _lot_ of beer. Did you find my belt, by any chance?” 

“No,” David says. He gives Patrick a look and Patrick knows he’s going to be spending the afternoon hunting it down and then sanitizing everything within a three-foot radius. It’s fine; they have time. 

“Oh, and your mom said you stole one of her shoes.” 

“Stole?!” 

“Hi, everyone!” Alexis shouts from on top of a folding chair at the start of the line. Ted beams and waves at her. David throws Patrick a dark look and Patrick pats his shoulder. “The route is marked with pink ribbons! Go down Main Street, take a left on Sycamore, and keep going through the trail at the cul-de-sac till it brings you up past the barn, and then it’s right on Walnut and right onto Main for the big finish.” 

Patrick rolls his shoulders to loosen up. He can hear David muttering, “Sickness and health. In sickness and in health…” 

“No going back now,” Patrick jokes. David rolls his eyes before pulling him in for a quick kiss. 

“You owe me donuts,” David says seriously. 

They both jump when Alexis blows the air horn. Patrick kisses him again before they start moving, their neighbors chatting around them as their footfalls start to pick up pace. 

**Author's Note:**

> I do recommend the c25k app if you want to start running! At the time I was writing this I was doing the c210k app and got a liiiittle obsessed and, well, here we are. 
> 
> You can reblog [here](https://middyblue.tumblr.com/post/190247511078/we-could-turn-the-world-to-gold) and find me at [middyblue](https://middyblue.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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